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I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. I 

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POUR SERMONS 



OF THE LATE 



EEV. JOHN C. MAECH, 



PASTOR OF THE 



CHUKCH IN BELLEVILLE, (NEWBURY;) 



MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR, 



SERMON PREACHED AT HIS FUNERAL, 
BY DANIEL DANA, D. D„ 

Minister in NeVburyport. 




BOSTON : 

PRESS OF T. R. MARVIN. 
18 4 7. 



This volume has been prepared chiefly 
for the friends of the deceased, and for 
his bereaved flock. 



MEMOIR. 



The lives of the most excellent men have 
often been barren of incident. Often, their 
consistency and symmetry of character have left 
no virtues peculiarly prominent. Nor is it un- 
frequent, that they have shunned, rather than 
courted, the public attention. Circumstances 
like these have rendered it difficult to collect 
and exhibit suitable memorials of their charac- 
ters and lives. Yet no men are more worthy to 
be remembered, loved and imitated. 

These circumstances all meet in the case of 
Mr. March. Wherever he was known, he was 
esteemed and loved. And it seems desirable 
that the excellencies of a character so estimable 
and unaspiring should be carefully preserved, 
and affectionately cherished. 

He was born at Newburyport, October 9, 
1805 ; and was the youngest of several children, 
2 



6 

Hone of whom, beside himself, survived the 
period of infancy. His father was an intelligent 
and respectable shipmaster and merchant, of 
active habits, but much given to reading and 
reflection. His mother, an estimable woman, 
was, through most of her married life, the prey 
of a feeble nervous system, and an attendant 
depression of spirits. This circumstance, com- 
bined with the frequent absence of the father 
from his home, deprived their beloved child of 
much of that early training and instruction 
which he would doubtless have otherwise 
received. 

Still, his childhood was by no means lost to 
the purpose of improvement. He early mani- 
fested an unusual fondness for reading ; and 
what he read, he was very apt to remember. 
His naturally contemplative mind directed him 
to books of real utility ; and those, generally of 
a moral and religious character. With books of 
this description, he was amply supplied from his 
father's library, and from the library of the 
Presbyterian Society with which he was con- 
nected. Frequently, and almost habitually, 
abandoning the sports of childhood, and the 
company of his co-equals, he would spend his 
hours of leisure in reading his favorite volumes 
to his beloved mother, 



This devotion to books, and to retirement, 
combined with a habitual seriousness of mind, 
and a certain quiet gravity of deportment, crea- 
ted in many of his friends the impression that 
he was destined for the ministry. And such, 
there is little reason to doubt, was the early im- 
pression of his own mind. Indeed, at the age 
of twelve, he composed a sermon on the subject 
of prayer, — a fact of which there can be no 
doubt, as the manuscript, distinctly dated, now 
remains in the hands of his friends. In this 
composition, many of the most important ideas 
which belong to the subject, are stated with 
great simplicity, and in a natural method. 

While looking forward to the ministry, he 
felt, and felt deeply, the necessity of personal 
religion. To this most important of objects, he 
devoted many intense thoughts, and many ear- 
nest prayers. He obviously regarded it as the 
grand concern. Whether effectual impressions 
of piety were made on his heart at this time, is 
somewhat doubtful. He himself referred his 
conversion to a considerably later period. Still, 
these early impressions were of inestimable value, 
as they induced a habitual tenderness of con- 
science, and preserved him, in a remarkable 
degree, from the follies and vices frequently 
attendant on youth. 



s 

When I 
he Ic - — an immense loss indeed : and 

rend afflictive by those increasing 

maladies and depressions of his mother, which 
almost incapacitated her for that superintendence 
and instruction so essential at his age. 

Abo three years afterward, his mother was 
Kill : ved. The bereavement went to his inmost 
heart ; and the more, as, inheriting a portion of 
her melancholy tendencies, he must have felt, 
uuih utire then us v.:./. acuteitess. :'.u tiou. and 

3 olation of so early an orphanage. 

Bui :: :u_ her and mother had forsaken 

him. the T^ord tank him i/p_ The sympathies 
of friends vrere powerfully excited. By i 
kindness, his sirritvs ~~ere soothed, his anxieties 
were reheved, and a home was furnished him, 
during the short period vthieh oreoeiiei the 
commencement of his collegiate life. 

In the autumn of 1S.21. he entered Yale Col- 
lege. In the trial vrhioh pre :e lied his admission. 
he satisfied, in good measure his eoie miners, but 
not himself. In his subsequent course, he f: 

be had some serious disadvantages to en- 

count ng had ieen cut ti :• 

Itory. His instruction in the classics had 

been neither systematic nor thorough. He was 

i-ueu.use. whi.e a sionomore, afflicted vntn ci 



severe sickness, which debarred him from one 
half of the studies of that important year. But 
he was not discouraged. His diligence and de- 
termination surmounted many an obstacle. His 
character and attainments as a scholar were 
respectable, and his college life was marked with 
the esteem of his fellow-students, and the appro- 
bation of his instructors. 

It was during the spring of 1825, (his last 
collegiate year,) that he obtained, as he hoped, 
the evidence and comfort of religion. At this 
time, there was a somewhat extensive awaken- 
ing among the students, and the mind of young 
March was early and deeply impressed. He 
seemed, from the first, to give his whole heart 
to the object ; determined to seek, until, by the 
grace of God, he should find. He complained, 
indeed, that he could not feel those terrors of 
the law which some felt, nor those overwhelm- 
ing convictions of sin. Still, his convictions 
were deep and strong. In a letter to a friend, 
he thus expressed himself : " To continue in sin 
for a single moment longer, appears to me to be 
a crime of the deepest dye. It is rebellion against 
the King of heaven ; against the greatest and 
best of beings. Surrounded as we are, by the 
proofs of his wisdom, power and goodness, is it 
not astonishing that we should still continue 
2* 



10 

to harden our hearts, and to dare his displeas- 
ure ? " 

Nor was he raised from mental distress to a 
high state of spiritual joy. Even after he in- 
dulged a hope of reconciliation to God, his hope 
was mixed with trembling. He complains of 
his mind as " continuing in a dark and confused 
state." " The Christian life," he finds, " is in- 
deed a life of constant warfare. Temptations 
surround us on every side, and it requires the 
help of an almighty arm to shield us from their 
power." "Instead," says he, "of loving the 
God who made me, with an undivided affection, 
it frequently costs me a severe mental effort to 
raise my thoughts above the trifling objects of 
this inferior world. O, that I could break away 
from these fetters that bind me down to earth." 

Thus his religion seems to have commenced 
in great self-diffidence. And his case, it is be- 
lieved, adds strong confirmation to the fact, that 
religion of this character is usually the most 
genuine and enduring. 

Mr. March left college with the resolution to 
prepare for the Christian ministry ; but deter- 
mined that, before commencing his theological 
studies, he would devote a year to the employ- 
ment of teaching. From the autumn of 1S25 
to that of 1826, he had the charge of the acad- 



11 

emy in East Bradford. In this station, his 
character was developed to much advantage. 
The combined dignity and kindness of his de- 
meanor and government, his aptness to teach, 
and his deep interest in the mental and moral 
improvement of those under his care, secured a 
general esteem and approbation. 

About the month of June, 1826, he made a 
public profession of religion, and was united to 
the First Presbyterian Church in Newburyport. 
The clergyman who officiated on the occasion 
was the Rev. James Miltimore, pastor of the 
neighboring church in Belleville. Having ad- 
ministered the ordinance of baptism, he said, in 
the conclusion of the service, " Go, young man, 
and be faithful to your covenant vows." Little 
did the venerable minister imagine that, in a 
few years, this same " young man " would be 
received by himself as a beloved colleague, and 
not long afterward have the sole charge of his 
people. 

In the autumn of the same year, Mr. March 
entered the Theological Seminary at Princeton, 
New Jersey. He had cherished, for some time 
previous, a desire, and even a resolution, to pur- 
sue his preparation for the ministry at Edin- 
burgh. But the friends with whom he consult- 
ed, did not view the plan as, on the whole, 



12 

eligible ; and he submitted his judgment to 
theirs. Nor is there evidence that he ever re- 
gretted his decision. He uniformly expressed 
a high opinion of the advantages enjoyed at 
Princeton, and a great respect for its professors, 
as well as a warm attachment. 

He pursued his studies with exemplary dili- 
gence, but not to the neglect of vital piety. 
The nearer his approach to that momentous 
period when he would preach the gospel to 
others, the deeper was his sense of the import- 
ance of its sanctifying and saving power on his 
own heart. In his letters to his friends, he la- 
mented, at some times, over his spiritual barren- 
ness ; and at others, expressed a tender fear lest 
all his religion should prove a mere speculation. 
Such apprehensions are not unnatural, nor un- 
frequent, in the most spiritual minds. There is 
much evidence that as he increased in divine 
knowledge, he grew in grace ; and that the holy 
doctrines of the gospel, as they entered and pos- 
sessed his mind, diffused their sweet and heav- 
enly influence over his inmost heart. 

During one of the vacations of the Seminary, 
he was employed as an agent of the Nassau Hail 
Bible Society, in exploring the necessities of the 
county of Warren. The views which this ex- 
cursion presented him, of ignorance, vice and 



13 

degradation, were at times almost sickening to 
his heart. Nor did he always escape an unkind 
and repulsive treatment from those whom he 
wished to enlighten, and to save. Many, how- 
ever, received him with great cordiality and 
gratitude, and by their kindness, cheered his ten- 
der spirit when ready to sink in discouragement. 
On the whole, he gathered from the scene much 
valuable instruction, which he treasured up for 
future use. Nor did he regret the self-denial, or 
the suffering, by which it was purchased. 

In the course of his third year at Princeton, 
he was much employed in giving occasional 
religions instruction in the destitute places 
around. These benevolent labors did not ma- 
terially interfere with his theological studies. 
Indeed, they must have naturally tended rather 
to excite and invigorate his mind, to warm his 
heart, and to prepare him to enter with peculiar 
advantage on the future duties of the ministerial 
office. 

Early in the year 1829, he received license as 
a preacher from the Presbytery of New Bruns- 
wick. From this time, he supplied various des- 
titute congregations in the country. He likewise 
preached occasionally in the cities of Philadel- 
phia and New York. 

At this time, his mind became perplexed, and 



14 

at times even agitated, respecting the scene of 
his future ministerial labors. His honored 
friend, Dr. Alexander, was much disposed to 
introduce him to a vacant church in the State 
of New York, to which he had been requested 
to recommend a candidate for settlement. About 
the same time he was much solicited to engage 
in the service of the American Home Missionary 
Society, with a view to his being employed in 
a distant mission. The employment itself seems 
to have had strong attractions for his pious mind, 
But his habitual self-diffidence threw obstacles 
in the way. Writing to a friend, he says, "I 
know not whether I possess the proper qualifi- 
cations for a domestic rnissionary — the firmness, 
the enterprize, but above all, the piety essential 
to the man who would become extensively use- 
ful in the great valley of the Mississippi. If 
not, I certainly ought not to go. And if, after 
going, and making trial of my powers in that 
widely-extended moral waste, I should find that 
I am not calculated for the service which I have 
undertaken, I trust that I shall have conscience 
and common sense enough to return." 

To the same friend he writes, on another 
occasion, "I feel entirely unfit to preach the 
gospel any where ; and the consciousness of my 
unfitness is sometimes extremely distressing. It 



15 

is my most sincere and earnest wish that God 
would direct my steps, and place me in the situ- 
ation where I can be most useful." 

Mr. March was absent from the Seminary 
during most of the summer of 1829. Visiting 
his native place, he was engaged by the com- 
mittee of the Rev. Mr. Dimmick's society (the 
pastor being absent on a journey for his health) 
to supply their desk for an indefinite number of 
Sabbaths. The time proving long, and his pre- 
pared sermons being but few, he was constrained 
to use great diligence in writing. This employ- 
ment, to which were added visits to the sick and 
afflicted, with preparations for vestry meetings, 
left him little leisure. But these days were 
spent among valued and affectionate friends, 
and they passed pleasantly and rapidly away. 

He returned to his beloved Seminary in Au- 
gust ; and at the close of the term in September, 
bade it a final and affectionate adieu. 

He soon made his way to the south-west ; 
and he went under the impression that some- 
where, in that extensive and destitute region, he 
should find a home, and a sphere for his ministe- 
rial labors. His first engagement to preach was 
at Maysville, Kentucky. Here he remained three 
months, or more. But the evils of slavery, as 
witnessed in that region, pressed heavily on his 



16 

mind, and discouraged him not a little, as to the 
success of his ministerial efforts. 

In the following spring, he returned to New 
England. For some little time, he preached in 
various societies in his beloved native place* 
Afterward, he was employed for a few months 
in Abington ; and susequently, for a similar pe- 
riod, in the upper parish of West Newbury. 

Early in January, 1831, the Rev. Mr. Milti- 
more being somewhat indisposed, Mr. March 
was invited to aid him in his labors ; but for no 
specified time ; and probably with no thought, 
on his part, or that of the people, that this 
engagement would eventuate in a connection 
to be dissolved only by his death. 

It was Mr. Miltimore's wish and hope, that 
after a time, he might resume his customary la- 
bors ; but his infirmities continuing, Mr. March 
was engaged in April, to continue for a year. 

His labors were attended with gratifying suc- 
cess. The religious attention of the people was 
much excited by a protracted meeting held about 
this time, in Newburyport, which many of them 
attended ; and the good influence was deepened 
and extended during a similar course of exer- 
cises held afterward in Belleville. In the first 
year of Mr. March's labors, between forty and 
fifty were added to the church. 



17 

111 January, 1832, he received an invitation to 
take charge of the people, as a colleague pastor 
with Mr. Miltimore ; and the call, being given 
with great unanimity, was unhesitatingly ac- 
cepted. His ordination took place on the first 
day of March. The season was attended with 
deep and solemn searchings of heart, and with 
many an anxious inquiry, Who is sufficient for 
these things ? Few, probably, have taken the 
vows of ordination with a livelier sense of the 
duties and responsibilities involved in them. 

The first communion which succeeded his 
ordination, was a season of singular interest* 
A considerable number were to be received to 
the church, of whom several were to receive the 
initiatory ordinance of baptism. The senior pas- 
tor being confined, the whole burden of the 
scene fell upon the young and trembling col- 
league. His feelings on the occasion were 
described in a letter which he wrote soon after- 
ward, to a friend. 

" When I first ascended the pulpit in the 
morning, but more especially, when I went 
down to administer the ordinance of baptism, 
I experienced a very uncommon degree of 
anxiety and trepidation. I trust, however, that 
nothing occurred in my unworthy administra- 
tion of it, to derogate from its validity, or to 
3 



18 

shock the feelings of those who witnessed it. 
At the administration of the Supper, I was fa- 
vored with a much higher degree of self-posses- 
sion than I had anticipated. At the same time, 
I cannot say that I was entirely free from em- 
barrassment, or that I succeeded by any means 
as well as I could have wished. The day was 
uncommonly beautiful, and the congregation 
very large. I cannot but hope that some good 
impressions were made by the exercises of the 
day. If so, to God be all the glory." 

In April, 1832, Mr. March was united in mar- 
riage with Miss Alice Little Hale, daughter of 
Thomas Hale, Esq., a much respected member 
of his Society. The ceremony was performed 
by his aged Colleague, who was now very in- 
firm, and, in this instance, administered the 
marriage ceremony for the last time. 

The new connection was auspicious. In the 
partner of his life, Mr. March found a cordial 
and devoted friend ; a deeply interested sharer 
of his joys and sorrows, and, in some instances, 
of his most important duties. He was likewise 
introduced to a large and worthy family, whose 
esteem and affection he enjoyed to the last, and 
whose uniform kindness contributed much to 
heal the deep-seated wounds of his heart, and to 
compensate those bereavements of dearest friends 



19 

by which his earlier life had been so peculiarly 
darkened and distressed. 

After boarding for nearly a year, with a val- 
ued friend and relative, and after a subsequent 
short experiment at house-keeping, Mr. March 
and his wife became members of the family of 
her father — a connection which continued to 
the close of his life. Nor was it a small privi- 
lege, to be thus exempted from those cares and 
solicitudes which so often occupy the time, and 
sometimes distract the minds, of ministers of the 
gospel. 

But no earthly condition is free from change, 
or from sorrow. The family of which Mr. 
March had become a part, was visited with dis- 
tressing sickness, and with repeated and bitter 
bereavements. These providential dispensations 
pressed upon his heart, and awakened its ten- 
derest sensibilities. The sorrows of his friends 
were his own. Still, he was to the afflicted, 
"a son of consolation." And repeatedly was 
he cheered with the hope that his prayers were 
answered in the present comfort, and the ever- 
lasting blessedness of those dear friends who 
were removed. 

Other dispensations of Providence went still 
nearer to his heart. In the third year after his 
marriage, he was gladdened by the birth of a 



20 

son. The event seemed to constitute a new 
era in his existence. So deep and tender was 
his interest in the young immortal, that he al- 
most immediately began to provide books which 
might assist in his early education. The very 
first opportunities were likewise embraced, for 
training the infant mind, and conveying lessons 
of the greatest importance to the heart. More 
than two years afterward, a daughter was given ; 
and the father's heart seemed to overflow with 
gratitude and joy. So powerful was the excite- 
ment of his feelings on the last occasion, and so 
deep his sensations at the baptism of the little 
one, that in performing the ordinance, he was 
constrained to make a considerable pause, hav- 
ing forgotten its name. But how fallacious are 
human prospects and hopes. In less than a 
year from her birth, the daughter was removed 
by death. The father's too susceptible mind 
was filled with anguish ; and for a time, he 
seemed almost incapacitated for the discharge 
of his ministerial duties. But gradually his 
grief was softened, and submission to the will of 
a sovereign God, spread a calm over his mind. 
The affection which the parents had divided be- 
tween the children, was now concentrated in 
their little boy. And he, as if conscious of their 
grief, and desirous to soothe it, would sometimes 
say to them, " / will be your little baby now," 



21 



But the cup of sorrow was not full. In a 
year from the daughter's death, the beloved son, 
now the only object of parental hope, was called 
away. On this occasion, Mr. March's affliction 
was almost overwhelming. A habitual and dis- 
heartening depression seemed to brood over his 
mind ; and though he was desirous to live for 
duty and usefulness, yet the charm of existence 
seemed to be almost gone. 

Doubtless, in all this, there was something not 
wholly faultless. Yet the case will be very 
imperfectly estimated, without taking into view 
the original structure of his mind, and even his 
bodily temperament. His constitutional tenden- 
cies were remarkably tinged with melancholy. 
In contemplating such a case, it is delightful to 
recur to that Saviour who can be touched with 
the feeling of his people's infirmities ; and who, 
if he sees their spirit willing, pities and pardons 
the infirmities of their flesh. 

Nor can it be doubted that these deep afflic- 
tions were made ultimately subservient to Mr. 
March's spiritual improvement, and his useful- 
ness. The destruction of his earthly hopes 
gave a heavenly direction to his mind, and in- 
creased its spirituality. The bitterness of his 
sorrow gave him more intimate communion with 
a suffering Saviour. And doubtless his own 
3* 



22 

experience, both of suffering and of consolation, 
prepared him to enter with deeper sympathy 
into the afflictions of his people, and to admin- 
ister appropriate counsel and comfort. 

Few ministers have been more exemplary 
than Mr. March, in the discharge of pastoral du- 
ties. With a marked emphasis, it may be said, 
that he gave himself wholly to them. From the 
commencement of his ministry, he deeply felt 
that the Great Shepherd had committed to 
him a portion of that flock which he had re- 
deemed with his own blood ; and that, coming 
in the clouds of heaven, he would require it at 
his hands. Hence he was diligent, laborious, 
unwearied, anxious to lay hold of every occa- 
sion, and every dispensation of Providence, to 
promote the spiritual good of his people. With 
this great object on his heart, he spared no pains, 
he shrunk from no sacrifices, and he was dis- 
couraged by no obstacles. His people w^ere 
constrained to feel that in their Pastor, they had 
a real and ardent friend to their souls; that their 
spiritual improvement and eternal salvation were 
his grand objects, and his dear reward. With 
great fidelity, and with equal tenderness, he 
warned the wicked, instructed the ignorant, 
guided the inquiring, and pointed the anxious, 
humble soul to the Lamb of God who taketh 



23 

away the si?i of the world. None of his congre- 
gation were too poor to attract his notice, or to 
engage his efforts for their spiritual good. He 
rejoiced in his people's joys, and grieved in their 
sorrows. He treated the aged with respect, the 
young with affectionate tenderness, and all with 
the dignified and condescending kindness which 
becomes a Christian minister. 

"And as the bird each fond endearment tries, 
To tempt her new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way." 

He was a diligent improver of time. In the 
preparation of his sermons, he was almost uni- 
formly in advance. It is a remarkable circum- 
stance, that though he was seized with his last 
sickness on Friday, both his sermons were 
found prepared for the following Sabbath. 

Nor did he neglect the great object of per- 
sonal improvement. He was, through life, a 
careful student of theology. Not content with 
its details, he resorted to its sources, and explored 
its first principles. He was well acquainted with 
the Hebrew, the Septuagint, and the Greek Tes- 
tament. His brethren in the ministry, with whom 
he was associated for the purpose of mutual im- 
provement, often found themselves materially 



24 

aided by his attainments, and soundness of judg- 
ment, especially in theology, and the portions 
of Scripture with which it is connected. 

It was his custom to spend his forenoons in 
his study, and to employ no small portion of 
his afternoons in visiting the families of his 
people. To the last named service, he attached 
peculiar importance. And there is reason to 
believe that his usefulness among his people, 
and the blessing which they received through 
his ministry, are to be traced, in no small de- 
gree, to his fidelity and diligence in this duty. 

He was accustomed, in addition to the services 
of the Sabbath, to deliver one lecture, at least, in 
each week. In seasons of awakening, or of 
special religious interest, he appointed various 
meetings for prayer, and was careful to attend 
them in person. 

Such exemplary devotion to the great objects 
of his ministry was not lost. It had its appro- 
priate reward. Indeed, his labors, it has been 
seen, were blessed from the first, and while he 
was preaching as a candidate. When he came 
to the people as their ordained minister, it was 
his rare privilege to come to a precious number 
who were hopefully converted under his preach- 
ing. No doubt, in many instances, they were 
the harvest springing from the seed sown by his 



25 

pious Colleague. In subsequent years, there 
were various instances of revival among the 
people of his charge. In the year 1834, there 
was a series of meetings, which issued in the 
hopeful conversion of not a few. 

It would have been strange, if amidst such 
arduous attentions to the duties of the ministry, 
Mr. March had not found the necessity of relax- 
ation. Such a necessity was not unfrequently 
felt. The relief needed was generally sought 
in journeying. As the family into which he 
had entered, had members and near connections 
in various regions of the country, his journeys 
were frequently made subservient to the visiting 
of dear friends. In other instances, he resorted 
to those places which were objects of curiosity 
and general interest. He early, in the company 
of friends, visited the White Hills in New 
Hampshire. In subsequent instances, he resort- 
ed to the Falls of Trenton, and of Niagara. 
With the last object, he connected an excursion 
to duebec and Montreal — an excursion which 
he much valued, as giving him a knowledge 
which he never before had, of Romanism, in its 
splendor, and its corruptions. 

From his journeys, he generally returned, in- 
vigorated in health, and improved in spirits, and 
prepared to engage with increased ardor and 



26 

efficiency, in his beloved ministerial duties. 
He lived for his work ; and delighted to devote 
all his faculties, his time and strength to his 
beloved people. 

In the year 1S-A0, Mr. March's health being 
somewhat impaired by study and pastoral labors, 
his friends proposed to him a voyage to Europe. 
Arrangements having been made for the purpose, 
he left home, about the middle of April, for 
Alexandria, (D. C.) which was the destined 
place of his embarkation. By reason of some 
detention, he spent several days at Washington, 
where he was introduced to the President (Mr, 
Van Buren), and where he had repeated oppor- 
tunities of listening to the debates of the two 
houses of Congress. 

He embarked at Alexandria, on the first of 
May, and on the sixth of June, he arrived in 
London. In this most distinguished city of 
Europe, and of the world, a mind like his could 
not but find ample materials to gratify curiosity, 
and to excite reflection. The advantages offered 
were seized with avidity, and turned to good 
account. He employed much time in surveying 
and examining the almost infinite variety of in- 
teresting objects with which he found himself 
surrounded. And he was alternately surprised, 
delighted and pained with the subjects of his 
contemplation. 



27 

He was introduced, by letter or otherwise, to 
some of the most distinguished ministers of the 
metropolis, and by several of them, he was 
treated with special attention. Not a few of 
them, he heard with no little interest and grati- 
fication ; and in some instances, was himself in- 
vited to occupy the desk. 

Of the celebrated Mr. Noel, he writes in his 
Journal : " It is delightful to see one so elevated 
in rank, and possessing a competent fortune, de- 
voting himself to the arduous and self-denying 
duties of the Christian ministry. While he de- 
votes the whole of his time to the duties of his 
profession, and is very abundant in labors, it is 
said that he gives away nearly the whole of his 
salary (about four thousand dollars) in charity." 

Mr. March attended a public exercise of Dr. 
Harris, the author of The Great Teacher, 
Mammon, &c, and remarks thus : " It occupied 
more than an hour in the delivery, and was ex- 
ceedingly fine. The style was similar to that 
of his printed productions." He adds : — " I had 
the pleasure of an introduction to him after the 
services were ended. His manners are very 
affable and pleasing. He is quite a small man, 
and has a very youthful appearance. When he 
first rose in the pulpit, I could hardly persuade 
myself that it was the distinguished man whom 
I expected to hear." 



Mr. March travelled somewhat extensively in 
England. He had a very gratifying interview 
with Mr. Jay. of Bath, of whom he thus writes : 

u I found him very affable. His manners are 
both simple and polished : and he soon makes a 
stranger feel at home in his company. Though 
nearly seventy years old. his faculties, both of 
body and mind; seem to be unimpaired. — Re- 
mained at his house nearly an hour, and then 
regretted to leave him. Upon reviewing this 
interesting period. I cannot help being surprised 
at the number of topics upon which we con- 
verse;!." 

Mr. March spent a Sabbath in Birmingham, 
and attended the church of Mr. James, so well 
known in America by his writings. It was 
a communion season. Having been previously 
introduced to Mr. James, and very cordially re- 
ceived by him. he was much gratified with the 
discourse, and with the exercises of the com- 
munion, which he found much like those of the 
churches at home. At the close of the exer- 
cises. Mr. James affectionately supplicated the 
blessing of God on the American churches, one 
of whose pastors (to use his own language} was 
present. 

In his journeyings in England, our traveller did 
not overlook the town of Newbury. He found 



29 



it a respectable and thriving place, containing a 
population of nearly five thousand. A remark- 
able circumstance was, that the Independent 
minister of the place, a respectable man, bore 
the name of March. Availing himself of 
the peculiar coincidences of the case, the stran- 
ger visited his house, and was very kindly re- 
ceived. Conversing with the English gentleman, 
lie found himself confirmed in an opinion which 
he had entertained before ; that his family was 
of Norman descent, and probably came to Eng- 
land in the time of William the Conqueror. 

Mr. March could not deny himself the pleas- 
ure of visiting Oxford, the seat of the most 
celebrated of the English universities. On this 
classical spot, a variety of interesting associa- 
tions thronged around him. He took a particu- 
lar view of the principal colleges, and of those 
objects which are generally esteemed the most 
curious. The Bodleian library, the largest in 
England, powerfully attracted his attention, as 
did likewise the Arundelian marbles, so cele- 
brated for their antiquity. Passing through the 
principal streets, he was shown the very spot 
where, as is believed, the martyrs, Latimer and 
Hooper, were burned at the stake, in the reign 
of Mary. 

From England, Mr. March made an excursion 
4 



30 

to France, where he tarried about a fortnight, 
Most of this time was passed in Paris. His at- 
tention was much attracted to its ancient and 
splendid churches, its gorgeous palaces, its splen- 
did promenades, and its almost infinite variety 
of painting and statuary. But his heart was con- 
tinually pained by the levity and licentiousness 
which prevailed among all ranks of its inhabitants. 
Infidelity, in its various degrees and forms, pre- 
sented itself as the grand and pervading malady. 
His remarks on Yoltaire, the great corrupter of 
France and of Europe — remarks elicited by a 
sight of his statue in the Pantheon — are worth 
transcribing. " I presume," he says, " it gives 
a very correct idea of the original, as he was in 
the days of his glory. The figure is tall, with 
emaciated, and somewhat ghastly features, im- 
pressing the beholder at once with the idea of 
great intellectual force, and a proud, reckless 
spirit. It certainly looks as we may suppose 
the great high priest of infidelity must have 
looked ; reminding me strongly of those cele- 
brated lines of Young : 

• Thou art so witty, profligate, and thin, 
Thou seem'st a Milton, with his Death and Sin.' " 

What a relief and delight must it have been to 
Mr. March, to pass from the Pantheon to the 



31 

Cemetery of Pere la Chaise, and to find inscribed 
on its entrance, in French : "lam the Resurrec- 
tion and the Life. He that believeth in me, 
though he were dead, yet shall he live." 

In this city, so devoted to luxury and licen- 
tiousness, Mr. March had one opportunity of 
preaching the gospel. This service he performed 
in the Wesleyan Chapel, in the presence of a 
large audience. His text was selected from 
John 3 : 16. — On another occasion, he writes in 
his Journal : " From what I have seen to-day, 
I am more and more convinced that there is a 
remnant, even in Paris ; and that religion is, on 
the whole, making progress among her gay and 
thoughtless population." 

Returning from Paris to London, Mr. March 
soon began to set his face homeward. In this 
prospect, he quotes, in his Journal, the beautiful 
lines of Goldsmith : 

" Where'er I roam, whatever realms I see, 
My heart, untravelled, fondly turns to thee." 

Having taken leave of friends in London, par- 
ticularly Mr. Bacon, who, with his family, had 
shown him particular kindness, he embarked on 
the seventh of August, and arrived at New York, 
on the fourteenth of September. Approaching 
the city, he thus writes : " The shores of New 



32 

Jersey and New York are now just before us. 
O that my heart may be filled with the live- 
liest gratitude to that God who has watched 
over me amidst all the perils of the mighty 
deep, and amidst all my journeyings in foreign 
lands, and brought me once more, in peace and 
safety, within sight of the land which gave me 
birth, — Hope in the course of a few hours, to 
be restored to the society of beloved friends. 
How delightful the prospect." 

His Journal closes in these terms: "As the 
result of my absence, I feel that my health has 
been greatly improved, that my experience has 
been enlarged, and that my knowledge of places, 
of men, and manners has been considerably in- 
creased. God grant that for all these benefits, 
my heart may be truly grateful. 7 ' 

Mr. March's labors, while at home, though 
chiefly pastoral, were not confined to that de- 
partment. Feeling a lively interest in the in- 
tellectual, as well as the moral improvement of 
the young, he labored for many years, and very 
assiduously, as a member of the school committee 
of the town of Newbury. He was likewise, for 
several years, a member of the Board of Trus- 
tees of Dummer Academy in Byfield, and in the 
latter period of his life, its President. It cannot 
be doubted that in each of these spheres of 



33 



action, his influence in the promotion of youth- 
ful knowledge and good morals, was efficient 
and salutary. He saw in the young, the ele- 
ments of an immortal existence, and the mate- 
rials which would constitute the salvation, or 
the bane, of his country, and the world, in 
future ages. 

If the view which has been given of Mr. 
March's ministerial course be correct — and it is 
believed to be not exaggerated — it is not sur- 
prising, that by the sober and religious part of 
his people, he should be most affectionately and 
highly prized. Such was the real fact. Few 
ministers have possessed so much of the warm 
and united affection of their churches. It was 
a growing affection too. In the most tender 
and unequivocal form, it was displayed during 
his protracted sickness, and at his death. It 
may, however, be thought strange, that with his 
uniform and uncompromising advocacy of the 
cause of truth and holiness, he should retain the 
affection of all classes of his people. Yet this, 
too, was remarkably the fact. And if the ex- 
planation be sought, it will probably be found 
in that meekness which habitually imbued his 
spirit and his whole demeanor, and which min- 
gled itself with his most faithful instructions 
and reproofs, whether public or private. Love, 
3* 



34 

genuine love, has not only an attractive, but a 
disarming power. The minister who is thus 
furnished, and whose instructions and rebukes 
are enforced by a correspondent example, may 
hope to pass unscathed, even through a cen- 
sorious world. And he will have an advocate 
and a friend in the consciences of those whose 
hearts are not gained. 

Nor was this affectionate estimate of his 
worth confined to Mr. March's own people. 
"Wherever he was known — and he was known 
somewhat extensively — he was valued and re- 
spected as an exemplary Christian, and an 
instructive preacher. The churches around 
considered his presence and his labors among 
them, as a privilege. This sentiment, which 
extensively prevailed during his life, seemed to 
be deepened, as the time of his departure 
approached. It was felt that his death would 
make a chasm which could not be easily sup- 
plied. 

By his brethren in the ministry, he was 
universally beloved. That veil of modesty 
which concealed a portion of his excellence 
from the passing world, did not obstruct their 
vision. It rather enhanced their sense of his 
worth, and gave him a deeper interest in their 
hearts. Those, particularly, who resided in his 



35 



native place, frequently resorted to him for aid. 
And with great readiness and liberality was that 
aid imparted. His name will long be fragrant 
in Newburyport. Nor will his memory ever 
recur to the minds of the pious in that place, 
but with a sentiment of gratitude that their 
town was privileged to give birth to such a 
minister, and of tender regret that his contin- 
uance on earth was so short. 

It should not be forgotten that Mr. March, 
while exemplarily devoted to his studies, and 
his people, was habitually alive to the interests 
of his country, and to the cause of religion and 
good morals in the community. He was grieved 
at the alarming progress of error and infidelity, 
of vice and crime. He lamented over the wide- 
spread ravages of intemperance, and the various 
and nameless evils of slavery. And without 
sanctioning what was irregular and extravagant 
in the opposition sometimes made to these evils, 
he was ever ready to employ for their subver- 
sion or mitigation, the weapons supplied by 
truth, and by genuine, enlightened benevolence. 
He was, for several years, Secretary of the Tract 
Society of North Essex, and by his annual re- 
ports manifested not only his lively interest in 
the cause, but enlightened views of the most 
efficient means of its advancement. 



36 

But his important and useful life must have a 
close ; and the event occurred at a period when, 
to human view, he was more than ever prepared 
for increased and extended usefulness. 

His sickness commenced on Friday, March 
20th, 1846. He had preached, on the preceding 
evening, his weekly lecture, from the text, O 
how love I thy law. On Friday afternoon, he 
walked out to make some parochial visits. But 
feeling much indisposed, he hurried back, and 
before night was in a burning fever. 

For the first eight days, the distress was often 
so great as to induce delirium, and to deprive 
him both of sight and hearing. But he was 
subsequently much relieved, and was viewed as 
in a low bilious fever. His complaints lingering 
upon him in a remarkable degree, and no effect- 
ual relief being obtained, he was removed to 
Boston, that he might avail himself of the med- 
ical skill of Dr. Bigelow. That physician, after 
examination, pronounced the disease " water in 
the pleura ; " but did not judge it incurable. 
Subsequently, the difficulty of respiration in- 
creased ; but after the application of suitable 
remedies, there was apparently a change for the 
better. 

It is remarkable that, through a great portion 
of his sickness, Mr. March, though not unaware 



37 

of danger, indulged a hope of ultimate recovery. 
He had a strong impression that the affliction 
was designed by his heavenly Father for his 
" great spiritual benefit." His mind was unusu- 
ally active, and seemed, at times, full of plans 
of future usefulness. Still, he manifested an 
unreserved submission to the disposing will of 
God, and not unfrequently took near and com- 
fortable views of death and eternity. 

He continued in Boston about four weeks, 
and returned on the fifteenth of July, apparent- 
ly more comfortable than when he left home. 
Several weeks afterward, he received a visit 
from Dr. Bigelow, at Belleville, who pronounced 
him no worse, and apprehended that the water 
was nearly absorbed. But soon afterward, other 
complaints supervened ; medicine seemed to lose 
its power ; and it was judged, on careful exam- 
ination, that a portion of the lungs was ulcer- 
ated. 

From this period to the time of his death — 
two weeks only — his strength rapidly declined ; 
and his sufferings, which were borne with his 
usual submission and patience, were, at times, 
very great. Little remains, therefore, but to 
gather up a few of those remarks which fell 
from him during this short interval ; and which, 
while they indicate the state of his own mind, 



38 

are suited to interest and profit the minds of 
others. If, in what precedes, and what follows, 
there should seem to any reader, to be too much 
of detail, let it be remembered that this Memoir 
has been prepared chiefly for his particular 
friends, and his affectionate people. 

The day after the state of his lungs was 
announced to him — it was the Sabbath — he 
appeared deeply solemn, yet tranquil ; and 
remarked, in conversation, " I would be willing 
to live an invalid for years, with an invalid's 
food and privations, if occasionally I could 
preach the gospel of Christ." And he thought, 
as he had an increased view of the value of the 
soul, he should be much more faithful than 
ever before. 

On the following day, he expressed to a 
friend in the ministry, who paid him a visit, his 
entire submission and pleasure in being in the 
hand of God. 

The same day, he remarked to another min- 
isterial brother, who called to see him, that he 
did not ask so much for the consolations of 
religion — those were for God to impart as he 
saw best. "But I do wish," said he, "for a 
humble and contrite spirit; a broken heart" 
At the same time, he deplored much that he 
had been no more faithful as a minister of 
Christ. 



The day following, he spoke much of the 
privilege of communion with God. He said, 
that were it possible for him to recover, it 
would be his greatest privilege and pleasure to 
spend frequent and long continued seasons of 
communion with his Maker — certainly an hour 
at a time, once in a day, and he hoped, oftener. 

The day afterward, he said, " The last visit 
of Dr. Bigelow (that in which he expressed a 
more unfavorable opinion of his case) was the 
most profitable one he ever made me ; for it 
drove me to the Saviour's feet." Being asked, 
if he found it a new place, he replied, " O no \ 
but I was expecting to recover, and almost un- 
consciously was forming plans for the future j 
and they savored too much of worldly am- 
bition." 

On another occasion, he remarked, " Th 
Christian's only home is heaven." He 
spoke of his delight in the thought of 
there ; of his confidence that a seat wai 
pared for him ; of the friends he woul 
but more than all, of his dear Saviour, 

To a friend, he remarked, " The c </ ersation 
of many troubles me ; for if I hav^ ut a 
weeks to remain, I would spend t/ m a ^ Wlt 
my God." 

In reply to a lady who visite/ta m > and who 




40 

expressed a wish for his recovery, he said, " I 
feel that to li" be Christ, and to die. will 

gain." He was afterward led to remark ou 
the short-comings of Christians, and said. •'•' How 
by not living nearer the Sav- 
iour. They have so little communion with 
:\\rr ;-_:-.;:'_!;.- :.:.:e 20 into his prest 
: there be a feeling oi shame in heaven, I 
shall certainly feel it, since I h:.~ .;"..- so little 
:: God." 

The feeling : his own un worthiness was. at 

s. oppressive; but after speaking of it. he 

would rarely fail to advert to the fullness there 

was in his Saviour, and his own unfailing trust 

in his boundless compassion. 

On the Sabbath which was the last of his life ? 

:: 7 : : the fifty-first 

Psalm. He conversed, at noon, with the pre? : - 

rwhc ?c:v"i7._ his ::.rsk. ex^i-ssi;, his wish 

L - his might be a successful ministry, and 

•■ If you a:u e'u: ;::;;;.:; ::- a si:ua;:on like 

1 will feel your responsibilities as you 

-ui.ig. in the even- 

"' on e subject of submission, he said, he 
believed h wa - wflIing t , ; , -^ ve a ;; s ,,.-.. body> 

fne; ' . thing, to the disoosal of his heav- 

enly Pat] 

Trie followin, d av , h e resumed the same sub- 



41 



ject, and earnestly requested his beloved wife to 
be willing to leave every thing in the hand of 
God. He wished her not to pray for his life 
otherwise than incidentally. Being questioned 
whether he did not ask for life, he replied, that 
he had, until within a few days ; but now, all 
he asked, was submission to the divine will. 

On the morning of Thursday, he was visited 
by a brother in the ministry ; but was so much 
afflicted by a preternatural drowsiness, as to be 
able to speak very little. He told his brother, 
that he had much to say to him, and wished to 
see him again. But it was their last interview. 

In the afternoon, he seemed brighter, and 
conversed freely on the things of eternity. He 
dwelt much on the fullness of Christ, as the 
great source of his consolation. " He is an 
ocean — vast — illimitable— else," said he, " I 
should despair." 

The day following, he conversed with two 
of his sisters, as one on the borders of the eter- 
nal world ; and very affectionately and solemnly 
addressed to each, appropriate instruction and 
admonition. He performed the same duty, the 
day following, to a brother and sister, and with 
much tender earnestness. He said, he would 
willingly give up his own life, if his death 
might be blessed to the salvation of those he 
5 



42 

so much loved. To another friend, who soon 
after entered his room, he expressed the wish 
" that all his dear people might feel as happy as 
he did." 

To a brother in the ministry, who preached 
his preparatory lecture, he spoke with great ten- 
derness and humility, of his own want of seri- 
ousness at ministerial associations ; and lamented 
that he had ever forgotten, for a moment, the 
great object of the ministry. His regrets, and 
his humility seemed almost oppressive. 

To a female relative, a member of his church, 
he said, the day before his decease : " This 
church, I trust, is a vine of God's own planting ; 
the church of the living God ; Jesus Christ 
the Captain of their salvation. I want them all 
to feel just as I do ; to feel that the Lord is 
right. I have had many a hard struggle in my 
own mind ; but now, i" have no will of my 
own. I am perfectly reconciled. My will is 
lost in the will of God." He added, " Hezekiah 
prayed, and God added to his life, fifteen years ; 
but how much less interesting were the latter, 
than the former years of his life." 

The last day of his life was now come. It 
was a day of much bodily suffering, and of 
much spiritual enjoyment. His wife having 
read to him the passage, " In my Father's house 
are many mansions." be he said, " How 



43 



consoling." She repeated promises, such as 
" When thou passest through the waters, I will 
be with thee," &c. He said, " How precious." 
She repeated some stanzas of appropriate hymns. 
He said, "How beautiful; how comforting." 
A ministerial brother from Newburyport visited, 
and prayed with him. At parting, he extended 
the dying hand, and bidding him farewell, said, 
" When I am gone, do not forget my church or 
people ; my dear wife or family." 

He was visited, in the afternoon, by an aged 
friend in the ministry, to whom he expressed, 
in feeble accents, but very intelligibly, much 
Christian resignation, and much sweet peace 
and hope. He had been favored, that morning, 
as he believed, with a season of communion 
with his God. His ties to earth were dissolved. 
He was willing, and more than willing, to de- 
part, that he might be with his beloved Saviour. 
He was willing to part with the dearest of 
earthly friends, and hoped to meet them, never 
to be separated more, in a Father's house 
above. 

In a short time after his soul was committed 
to God in prayer, it took its upward flight, and 
rested in the bosom of its Saviour. 

This interesting event occurred on Saturday, 
the 26th of September, 1846, near five o'clocfc 
in the afternoon. 



44 

After the particulars which have been given 
of Mr. March's life, and closing scene, it seems 
needless to attempt a formal delineation of his 
character. Most of its principal features have 
been already developed. It must have been 
seen that the essence and the charm of his 
character was piety ; a, piety not superficial, nor 
austere, nor obtrusive ; but in-wrought, and 
meek, and retiring ; a piety not of cold specula- 
tion, or barren experience, or empty profession ; 
but a deep-seated principle, subduing the soul, 
warming the heart, regulating the temper, and 
spreading its influence over the life. It was this 
piety which rendered him so diligent in study, 
and so indefatigable in labor ; which prompted 
him to be so scrupulously attentive to the sea- 
sons and duties of devotion, while it suffered 
him to shrink from no extraneous and active 
service. It was this which made him so exem- 
plary as a man ; so faithful and affectionate as a 
preacher ; so assiduous and devoted as a pastor, 
and so lovely in all the private and tender rela- 
tions of life. It was this, in short, which dif- 
fused a salutary influence over his whole deport- 
ment, and secured to his character and his 
exertions, their most efficient power for accom- 
plishing good. It was justly said of him by a 
ministerial brother who knew him well, that 



45 



* l though grave, he was not austere ; though 
dignified, he was accessible ; though serious, he 
was cheerful ; and though a pleasant compan- 
ion, he never for a moment forgot that he was a 
minister of Christ." The same brother remarked 
of him, that " he had the peculiar faculty of dis- 
arming opposition, and uniting all hearts in his 
favor, without sacrificing any purpose which a 
faithful advocate for the truth ought to main- 
tain." It was the same spirit of uniform piety, 
which rendered him so useful to his people, so 
beloved by his ministerial brethren, such an 
ornament to religion, and such a blessing to the 
community. It was this which sustained his 
heart in scenes of severe distress, and tranquil- 
lized his mind at the approach of death. It was 
this which enlightened and cheered his sick 
chamber, and gave it a character so beautifully 
described by the poet — 

" The chamber where the good man meets his fate, 
Is privileged above the common walk 
Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven. 



You see the man ; you see his hold on heaven, 

If sound his virtue 

Heaven waits not the last moment ; owns her friends 
On this side death ; and points them out to man ; 
A lecture silent, but of sovereign power; 
To vice, confusion— and to virtue, peace. " 

5* 



46 

The removal of such a man as Mr. March, in 
the full vigor of his faculties, and the full career 
of his usefulness, is one of the mysteries of 
Providence. Yet some of the lessons which it 
comprises, are as obvious, as they are important. 
It speaks to us of that world where real good- 
ness finds its reward^ its perfection, and its 
noblest sphere of exertion. It speaks to us of 
the independence, the munificence of that Being 
who, having prepared the fittest instruments for 
his service on earth, can lay them aside without 
injury to his cause. The design, too, of such a 
dispensation will be well answered, if Christians 
shall look more simply to God himself, to up- 
hold and prosper the interests of his Zion ; and 
if Christian ministers, gathering up the fallen 
mantle, shall give themselves more entirely to 
those pious exertions from the midst of which 
their departed brother was taken to his rest. 



SEEMONS. 



SERMON I. 



THE HEAVENLY TREASURE. 



The kingdom of heaven is like unto treasure hid in a field.- 
Matt. xiii. 44. 



The Kingdom of heaven, is a phrase which 
has a variety of significations. Sometimes it 
simply means the gospel dispensation, in con- 
tradistinction from that which went before it ; 
as when John the Baptist came preaching in the 
wilderness of Judea, li Repent ye, for the king- 
dom of heaven is at hand." Sometimes it seems 
to signify the visible church in contradistinction 
from the world ; as when our Saviour declares, 
" The kingdom of heaven is like unto a net 
that was cast into the sea, "and gathered of every 
kind : which, when it was full, they drew to 
shore, and sat down and gathered the good into 
vessels, but cast the bad away." Sometimes it 
means the world of everlasting blessedness ; as 



50 

when our Saviour declares, " Not every one that 
saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the 
kingdom of heaven ; but he that doeth the will 
of my Father which is in heaven." Sometimes 
it seems to have reference to the power of Chris- 
tianity in the human soul : as when our Sav- 
iour declares, " The kingdom of God," (a phrase 
which I apprehend to be equivalent to the 
phrase, The kingdom of heaven,) " cometh not 
with observation ; Neither shall they say, Lo, 
here ! or, lo, there ! for behold, the kingdom of 
God, (the kingdom of heaven,) is within you." 
Such I conceive to be its meaning in the passage 
selected for our text. 

Two thoughts require attention. In what 
respects is Christianity in the heart of man, a 
treasure ? And why is it called a hid treasure ? 

I. In what respects is religion a treasure ? 

1. It is excellent in its own nature. Such is 
an idea which men most naturally associate with 
the name of treasure. Silver and gold and pre- 
cious stones seem to them to have an intrinsic 
value ; in other words, to be valuable on their 
own account. It is true that this is, to some 
extent, a mistaken notion. It is in reality their 
relation to other things, which imparts to them 
their chief value. If they were not the repre- 
sentatives of other things, they would be of no 



51 

more account than some other species of matter 
of the same size. At the same time, though the 
notion be a mistaken one, yet on account of its 
commonness, it almost necessarily enters into 
our idea of a treasure. We say, therefore, that 
the word treasure, carries with it the idea of 
intrinsic value, of an excellence peculiar to it- 
self, And, my friends, such is in reality the 
fact with the kingdom of heaven, or the religion 
of Jesus Christ in the soul of man. 

To be convinced of the truth of this remark, 
we have only to consider for a single moment, 
what it implies. It implies then the love of God 
shed abroad in the heart by the Holy Ghost 
given unto us. It implies deliverance from the 
power and pollution of sin, internal purification, 
and a partial, but constantly growing conformity 
to the law and the image of God. It implies 
an habitual fellowship with the Father, and with 
his Son Jesus Christ. It implies a peace which 
passeth understanding, and a joy which is un- 
speakable and full of glory. It implies, in a 
single word, all that is excellent in holiness, and 
all that is desirable in happiness. 

Surely, then, whatever may be thought of 
earthly treasure, there can be no doubt of the 
value and the excellence of religion. It is val- 
uable in itself, independently of its relation to 
all other beings, and all other things. 



m 

2. Religion is a treasure, because it procures 
for those who possess it. the richest of benefits. 
The chief value of worldly treasures consists in 
the benefits which they are capable of procuring 
for those who possess them. By means of their 
silver and gold, men may purchase houses, and 
lands, and merchandise : every thing, indeed, 
which is an object of traffic. Thus they are 
enabled to gratify almost every desire of their 
hearts, and to procure for themselves the sem- 
blance, and the reputation, if not the reality of 
happiness. Indeed earthly treasures often pro- 
cure for men advantages which are not objects 
of traffic. They impart to them influence 
amongst their fellow men, They are sometimes 
the means of elevating them to places of power 
and trust. Hence the wise man tells us that 
" the rich man's wealth is his strong city.'* and 
again, that - wealth maketh many friends/' 

In this respect, experimental religion may be 
compared to a treasure. It procures for those 
who possess it. the most abundant and precious 
advantages. Indeed, to some of these advan- 
tages I have already alluded. Fellowship with 
God ; peace and joy in the Holy Ghost : what 
can be more desirable ? The man. therefore. 
who possesses the religion of the gospel, secures 
by it the favor of God. Yes : he is regarded 



53 



with an eye of the utmost complacency, and a 
heart of the warmest love, by the greatest, the 
holiest, the best of beings. God is his Father, 
and his Friend. He may therefore rest assured 
that all things will be bestowed upon him of 
which he stands in need. " For the Lord God 
is a sun and shield : the Lord will give grace 
and glory : no good thing will he withhold from 
them that walk uprightly." How much is im- 
plied in this declaration of the Psalmist. By 
means of that rich treasure which he possesses 
in the religion of Jesus Christ, he obtains all 
those things which are necessary for him in the 
present world. On this account merely, it de- 
serves to be regarded as the most valuable of 
treasures. But this is not all. Nay it is but a 
small part of the benefits which it procures for 
him. It will procure for him all the blessedness 
of heaven for ever ; for the Lord will not only 
give grace, but glory. " Fear not," said the 
Saviour to his disciples ; " for it is your Father's 
good pleasure to give you the kingdom." But 
who can conceive the joys which await the 
child of God in another and better world ? In 
comparison with them the present joys of earth 
are not worthy of the name. 

What an immense difference is there, there- 
fore, between the benefits which are procured by 
6 



54 

earthly treasures, and the treasure which we are 
considering. The former can be enjoyed, at the 
farthest, but for a few short years ; at best, it 
can afford but a very imperfect, a very unsatis- 
factory kind of happiness. The latter are eter- 
nal in their duration ; are all which the soul can 
desire. 

3. Religion is a treasure, because of the satis- 
faction which it affords to the man who pos- 
sesses it. Now there is nothing which would 
afford to the great majority of men such an 
exstacy of delight, as the discovery of some rich 
treasure. To this fact our Saviour alludes in 
the passage which contains our text, and indeed 
makes it the ground of the simile employed. 
" The kingdom of heaven is like unto treasure 
hid in a field ; the which when a man hath 
found, he hideth, and for joy thereof, goeth and 
selleth all that he hath, and buyeth that field." 

From the well known cupidity of the human 
mind, we can easily conceive what would be the 
emotions of an individual who, digging in the 
earth, should suddenly strike upon a mine of 
silver or gold ; more especially if he had previ- 
ously been a poor man, compelled to support 
himself and his family, by the labor of his 
hands, and by the sweat of his brow. What 
visions of happiness would flit before his excited 



55 

fancy. Already would he see himself, in pros- 
pect, " arrayed in purple and fine linen, and 
faring sumptuously every day : " the observed 
of all observers j caressed by the great, and hon- 
ored by the multitude. 

But, my friends, a much higher and purer 
satisfaction attends the discovery and the pos- 
session of the gospel treasure. It excites no 
extravagant expectations, expectations which 
ought not to be indulged, and which cannot be 
fulfilled. Nay, as we have already seen, the 
benefits which it procures are such as no mortal 
imagination can conceive. But it does afford 
the highest, the purest satisfaction. The man 
who has found it, feels that he has discovered 
a treasure indeed. Its value, although from its 
greatness it cannot be appreciated by any finite 
mind, appears to him so great, that for it, he is 
willing to sell all that he has ; nay, and to do it 
with joy. And why should he not ? For he 
parts only with that which is worthless, which 
indeed may be positively injurious to him, that 
he may procure that, whose value is infinite. 
Such then are some of the respects in which 
religion is a treasure. But, 

II. In what respect is it a hid treasure ? This 
is the second point which we proposed to con- 
sider. 



56 

1. It is a hid treasure, as the great majority of 
men are unconscious of its existence. A hid 
treasure, as its name imports, is unknown to the 
generality of men. They pass over the field 
which contains it, without any conception of 
the riches which lie underneath its surface. 
Such is pre-eminently the fact with the treasure 
of religion. The great majority of men know 
nothing about it. Many indeed do not even 
believe in its existence. How many are there, 
to whom the doctrine of the new birth seems 
like the very essence of fanaticism and folly. 
They do not believe that God ever reveals him- 
self to the souls of men, as he does not unto the 
world at large. They say that he is to be 
known only through his works, and his word ; 
that as to speaking to them by his Spirit, it is 
an idea which has no foundation either in Scrip- 
ture, or in reason. They may not doubt, per- 
haps, that those who profess to have experienced 
the power of religion upon their souls, are per- 
fectly sincere in the belief of those things which 
they assert ; that they imagine that they do in- 
deed hold communion with God ; that they have 
views of his glory, such as the majority of men 
know nothing of ; that they have foretastes of 
heaven itself. But they believe them to be only 
the dreams of a glowing and excited imagina- 



57 

tion ; vivid enough to impress upon the minds 
of those who have them an idea of reality, not- 
withstanding that by the calm eye of philosophy 
they are seen to be only delusion. To such 
individuals, it is very certain that experimental 
religion must indeed be like treasure hid in a 
field. 

But even some who profess to believe in its 
reality, can form no just conception of it. 
When they hear Christians speaking of the 
great things which God has done for their souls, 
of the revelations which have been made to 
them of eternal things ; of the peace and joy 
which they have found in believing ; it sounds 
to them almost like a new language ; like a 
strange tongue. Perhaps, like Nicodemus of 
old, they are ready to inquire, " How can these 
things be ? " Men may know much respecting 
the external forms of religion, who yet remain 
in utter ignorance of its spirit. The Scriptures 
tell us of those who have the form of godliness, 
but who deny the power thereof. 

Now of such individuals there can be no 
doubt that they are ignorant of its power ; for 
if they were not, if they were acquainted with 
it, they would not deny it. But this ignorance 
is not confined to them. They only share it in 
common with millions of others \ of all indeed 
6* 



58 

who have not been bora again. O, how many- 
are there who are accustomed to read the Scrip- 
tures, from day to day, who regularly attend 
upon the public worship of God on the Sab- 
bath, and who really feel and uniformly mani- 
fest a high regard for all the institutions of 
religion, who are as ignorant of its real essence, 
its transforming, purifying, enlightening, conso- 
ling and elevating influence upon the heart, as 
if they had never heard of it. Their altars, 
like those of the ancient Athenians, are erected 
to the worship of an unknown God. Suppose, 
then, that they should become the subjects of 
renewing grace, what an entire change, and 
how wonderful to themselves, would take place 
in all their views of religion. They would 
feel themselves introduced, as it were, into a 
new world. For if any man be in Christ, says 
the Apostle, he is a new creature ; old things 
are passed away ; behold all things are become 
new. O, would not such an individual feel that 
he has indeed found a treasure ; ay, a treasure 
which, up to the present moment, has been hid- 
den, as it were, in a field ? But, 

2. Religion is a hid treasure, as by the great 
majority of men, it is undervalued. If the ex- 
istence of a treasure be entirely unknown and 
unsuspected, it is of course, as if it were not. 



59 

The man who owns the field which contains it, 
values that field none the more highly on its 
account. If assured that there is some kind of 
a treasure there, still if he knows not either its 
nature, or its amount, he is very likely to put 
upon it but a low estimate. Now apply these 
observations to the subject in hand, to experi- 
mental religion ; and see how closely in these 
respects it resembles a treasure hid in a field. 
That it is most exceedingly undervalued by the 
majority of men, is but too painfully apparent. 
They value it so little, that they will not put 
forth a single effort for its acquisition. It is so 
completely hidden from them, that they can 
perceive nothing of its excellence. Nay, many 
who are constantly passing over the field which 
contains it, have their doubts of its existence. 
They value it, therefore, at nothing. And even 
those, who profess to believe in its existence, 
seem to place upon it scarcely a higher value. 
They are told that it is so valuable that to pur- 
chase it, they should be willing to give all that 
they have. But they obviously do not believe 
it. Nay, they are unwilling to give up for it, 
the slightest worldly pleasure. But would it, 
could it be so, if it were not hidden from then- 
view ; if they could see it precisely as it is ? 
What sacrifices are they willing to make for an 



60 

earthly treasure. Our Saviour tells us that for 
joy thereof, they go and sell all that they have, 
that they may obtain it. And why is it thus ? 
Is it not because they have discovered its value ? 
They have seen it as it is. By seeing it, they 
have been enabled to estimate, to some extent, 
its amount. They think of the advantages 
which its possession will confer upon them. It 
will make them rich ; it will impart to them in- 
fluence amongst their fellow men. It is no 
longer a hid treasure to them. It is a treasure 
discovered. They are therefore willing to give 
for it all that they possess. If they were able 
they would give for it all that it is worth. And 
just such is the case with the treasure of exper- 
imental religion. If it were known, it would 
be highly valued. They would not think that 
the Scriptures place upon it an extravagant esti- 
mate ; though they require of those who would 
possess it, that they give up all for it that they 
have. But alas ! it is to them like treasure hid in 
a field. It is out of sight. They have only heard 
about it with the hearing of the ear. They 
are unacquainted with it, and therefore they do 
not value it as they do those things with which 
they are acquainted. This is the reason why 
they can prefer to it those things which are of 
infinitely less value ; the smallest trifles of na- 
ture and of art. But, 



61 

3. Religion is a hid treasure, as it is to be 
obtained only by effort, and by sacrifice. Our 
Saviour represents it, in the passage from which 
our text is selected, as treasure hid, not in a 
man's own field, but in the field of another ; 
so that before it can be obtained, that field is to 
be bought, though it may cost him all which 
he possesses. Sacrifices, therefore, are to be 
made in order to obtain the treasure of the 
kingdom of heaven. To this fact we had 
occasion to allude under the preceding head. 
But its importance renders it deserving of some- 
thing more than a mere passing allusion. It 
deserves to be made prominent. 

Be it then never forgotten, that the treasure 
which we are describing is a hid treasure ; so 
that no man can obtain it, who is not willing to 
part with all that he has for it. We must be 
willing to give up not only our property, but 
our friends, our dearest comforts, yea, even life 
itself. If any man, said the Saviour, will be 
my disciple, let him deny himself, and take up 
his cross, and follow me. If any man come to 
me, and hate not his father, and mother, and 
wife, and children, and brethren and sisters, 
yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my 
disciple. 

But there is still one other respect in which 



62 

the kingdom of heaven is like to a hid treasure. 
To procure it, not only sacrifice, but effort is 
necessary. It would be of no avail for a man 
to purchase a field containing some rich treas- 
ure, if after he has purchased it, he is unwilling 
to dig for it. He can be none the better for it, 
so long as it remains in its secret bed. He 
must therefore break up the soil which covers 
it, and bring it forth from its hiding place. 
Just so, my friends, are we commanded to do 
in reference to the infinitely richer treasure of 
the kingdom of God. If thou criest after 
knowledge, says the wise man, and liftest up 
thy voice for understanding ; if thou seekest her 
as silver, and searchest for her as for hid treas- 
ures ; then shalt thou understand the fear of the 
Lord, and find the knowledge of God. 

The figure employed by the wise man is 
substantially the same with that employed by 
the Saviour, and suggests to the mind, the 
necessity of vigorous effort on the part of those 
who would secure for themselves the blessings 
of religion. But this idea is often brought to 
view in the Bible, not only in figurative, but in 
plain language. Thus we are commanded to 
seek that we may find ; to labor not for the 
meat which perisheth, but for that which en- 
dureth to everlasting life ; to strive, or as the 



63 

word might be interpreted, to agonize, to enter 
in at the strait gate ; expressions which imply 
intense and long continued effort. But why 
should this occasion us any trouble, or any 
regret, when we consider that it is the richness 
and the abundance of the gospel treasure which 
render it necessary ? If it were less rich, or less 
abundant, it might perhaps be obtained with 
less effort. By a little digging, and a little 
searching, the mine which contains it might be 
exhausted. Should a man discover a mine of 
silver, or of gold, he would not certainly com- 
plain because it is so rich in the precious ore, as 
to render it necessary for him to labor upon it 
for months or for years, before he could exhaust 
it. The fact that every effort which he makes, 
adds to his wealth, causes that effort to appear 
to him easy and pleasant. We ought then to 
rejoice in the necessity which is laid upon us to 
labor, in order that we may obtain the rich 
treasure of the kingdom of heaven. For when 
we consider the cause of this necessity, we per- 
ceive that we are not required to labor in vain, 
nor to spend our strength for nought. The 
more deeply we explore the mines of gospel 
wealth, the more rich will their treasures appear 
to us. Every step of our progress will be 
crowned with some new success. However 



64 

much we may have already gained, we shall 
find that there is still more to be gained. 

L How happy then, I would remark in the 
first place, are all those who have found the 
gospel treasure. They are happier far than 
those who have discovered the richest of earth- 
ly treasures. For what is all the wealth of 
Peruvian mines, which must perish with the 
using, in comparison with that which lasts for- 
ever ? It is but a short time that any earthly 
treasure can be enjoyed. A few years, at farth- 
est, and the man who possesses it must bequeath 
it to his heirs. But the treasures of heaven are 
eternal in their duration. How wise therefore 
does that advice of our blessed Lord appear, 
" Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon 
earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and 
where thieves break through and steal : but lay 
up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where 
neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where 
thieves do not break through nor steal." O, 
which was really the happier man : which was 
the more deserving to be envied : the rich man 
who was clothed in purple and fine linen, and 
who fared sumptuously every day ; or the beg- 
gar who lay starving at his gate ? The one 
had earthly treasures in abundance, but he was 



65 

soon to leave them, and then his immortal spirit 
was to suffer the pangs and the privations of an 
everlasting poverty. He was to be so poor as 
to need even a drop of water, wherewith to re- 
lieve his parched and burning tongue. The 
other was possessed of all the treasures of heav- 
en. It is true that he could not yet enjoy 
them. But they were his in reversion ; his in 
prospect ; ay, in speedy prospect. Happy, then, 
we repeat it, must be the man who has found 
that religion which is like a treasure hid in a 
field. 

2. How naturally, upon a review of our sub- 
ject, does the question arise in our minds, Can 
this treasure be obtained by seeking ? My 
friends, I wish for a moment to fix your 
thoughts upon this inquiry. I wish, in a spe- 
cial manner, to bespeak for it the attention of 
those who do not profess to have found it. 
Now, all, I presume, will acknowledge, even 
the infidel himself, if he were present, that if 
the representations which we have made in the 
preceding discourse, be true ; if there be such a 
thing as experimental religion, it must be the 
greatest of blessings ; it must be more valuable, 
yea infinitely more valuable, than all things 
else. It must indeed be the one thing needful. 
All men in a state of nature, are conscious of 
7 



66 

some mighty want which this world can never 
supply ; or, as the poet expresses it, of an 
aching void within, the world can never fill. It 
is not in the power of silver or gold; of houses 
and lands, of honor and distinction, of sensual 
pleasures, of any thing, indeed, which this 
world can afford, to satisfy the cravings of an 
immortal spirit. Is it then in the power of re- 
ligion to do it ? It doubtless is, if it is all 
which I have represented. It is, if it brings 
the soul into direct and intimate communion 
with its God ; if it elevates it above the world ; 
if it purifies and sanctifies its affections ; if it 
meets all its demands, adapts itself precisely to 
its nature, and gives to it both the promise and 
the pledge of a happy immortality* We have 
asserted, in the preceding discourse, that such is 
the fact with religion. And we believe that we 
have asserted it upon the highest and the best 
of authority ; the authority of God himself. 
And we believe, too, that the truth of our as- 
sertion has been confirmed by the experience of 
thousands and tens of thousands of God's chil- 
dren in all ages of the world. Nay, we be- 
lieve that there are living witnesses of it, and 
that in great numbers ; and that some of these 
witnesses may be found even among ourselves ; 
in this very community, yea, amidst this con- 



67 

gregation. At the same time, as the kingdom 
of heaven is like treasure hid in a field, as the 
great majority of men know nothing about this 
hid treasure, we cannot wonder that to many, 
all we say about it, should seem like idle tales. 

But since such is the infinite importance of 
the subject ; since such is its relation, not only 
to the interests of time, but to those of eternity, 
would it not be the part of wisdom, even for 
those individuals to inquire whether these 
things may not be so ? Nay, to put forth every 
effort in their power to ascertain the fact, if any 
mode exists, by which it can be ascertained. 
But it has been our object in the preceding dis- 
course, to show that there is such a mode. We 
have declared and we trust that we have proved 
by our appeals to Scripture, that whilst the 
kingdom of heaven is like to a treasure hid in a 
field, in many other respects, it is like it also in 
this; that its riches may be discovered, yea, 
may be possessed, by seeking for them. 

Is not the experiment, then, my friends, 
worth the making? Suppose you were told 
that in some neighboring field there is a treas- 
ure of silver or gold; told, too, by some one 
who professes himself to have discovered it 
there, and of whose veracity you have no 
reason to doubt, would it be wise in you to 



6S 

ridicule the intelligence ? Indeed would you 
be likely to do it 1 You might, perhaps, dis- 
trust its correctness. You might think that the 
author of it is mistaken. Still, when it is so 
easy to ascertain the truth in respect to it ; 
when for this purpose you have only to go to 
that field, and to dig and to examine for your- 
selves, would you not be disposed to do it I 
Now we affirm that the kingdom of heaven : 
that religion, with all its exalted privileges, and 
all its precious joys, is like that treasure hid in 
a field. It is to be obtained by seeking. Will 
you then, instead of seeking that you may 
ascertain whether what we tell you is true, 
content yourselves with disbelieving our decla- 
ration, declaring that it is not, that it cannot be 
true ? Is this the part of wisdom ? 

If the declaration were entirely new, if it 
had never been heard before, if we could pro- 
duce for it no authority, it might perhaps be 
wise. But it comes to you from ten thousand 
different sources. It is as old as the Bible 
itself, and it has never ceased to be repeated 
throughout the many ages during which the 
Bible has existed ; and it has been repeated 
by those who have declared that they spoke 
from experience. Their language has been that 
of the Psalmist, M Come and hear, all ye that 



69 

fear God, and I will declare what he hath done 
for my soul." I ask, then, is it wise that you 
should reject all these multiplied declarations, 
without any inquiry into their truth, when such 
an inquiry is in your power ? We can tell you 
where the hidden treasures of the gospel are to 
be found. They are to be found in repentance 
for your sins, in faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, 
in giving him your hearts, and devoting your- 
selves to his service. Will you not, then, go 
and seek them there ? The conditions, you 
perceive, are both easy and reasonable ; they 
commend themselves to your own consciences. 
O then comply with them ; perform your first 
and plainest duty, and you will no longer doubt 
that there is such a thing as experimental relig- 
ion. Though now it may be to you a hid 
treasure, it will then be a treasure discovered, 
and you will find it to be a treasure indeed ; 
infinite and all sufficient, soul satisfying and 
everlasting. 



SERMON II. 



HOPE, THE CHRISTIAN'S ANCHOR. 



Which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and stead- 
fast, and which entereth into that within the veil. — Hebrews vi. 19. 

These words are obviously the continuation 
of a paragraph ; and therefore to know to what 
the apostle refers, they must be viewed in their 
connection. " Wherein God, willing more 
abundantly to show unto the heirs of promise, 
the immutability of his counsel, confirmed it by 
an oath : that by two immutable things, in 
which it was impossible for God to lie, we 
might have a strong consolation, who have fled 
for refuge to lay hold upon the hope set before 
us ; which hope we have as an anchor of the 
soul, both sure and steadfast, and which enter- 
eth into that within the veil." It is then the 
hope of eternal salvation through the merits of 
a crucified Redeemer, of which the apostle is 



71 

speaking, and which he represents as an anchor 
of the soul. 

The figure is one of peculiar beauty. The 
soul is represented as a ship embarked upon the 
ocean of life, exposed to all the winds of 
heaven, and tossed about by its tempests. Still 
there is no danger of its being wrecked, for it is 
held fast by its anchor, an anchor which is sure 
and steadfast ; for it is cast within the veil ; it 
is attached to the Rock of Ages. From this 
strong hold, no earthly power can separate it. 

Such, then, my friends, is the strength, and 
such the influence, of the Christian's hope. 
The sentiment, therefore, contained in our text, 
when stripped of its figurative garb, amounts to 
this : that there is nothing like the hope of the 
gospel, to keep the soul steadfast amidst the 
adverse and dangerous influences to which it is 
exposed. To illustrate this sentiment, will be 
my object in the following discourse. 

In pursuing this object, it will of course be 
necessary for me to point out some of the 
adverse and dangerous influences to which I 
have referred ; and to show in what manner 
hope operates to preserve the soul steadfast and 
immovable amidst them all. 

1. We live in a world of error — a world in 
which the light of truth shines but feebly. 



72 

Whilst in a Christian land like ours, vast multi- 
tudes possess the Bible, and profess to believe 
it, a great diversity of opinions exist in respect 
to the doctrines which it contains. What one 
affirms, another denies. One theory after 
another, is broached upon the most interesting 
and important subjects, until the memory be- 
comes burdened with their number, and some 
are ready to ask, is there any such thing as 
certainty ; or is the Bible merely a riddle to 
exercise the ingenuity, and to puzzle the under- 
standings of men ? How numerous, for in- 
stance, are the speculations in respect to the 
character of God. Whilst one represents him 
as so just, that he will inflict upon every 
impenitent sinner the penalty of everlasting 
death, another declares that he is too merciful 
to do it. Nay, he stigmatizes the opposite doc- 
trine as not only false, but barbarous ; as 
clothing the Almighty w r ith the attributes of a 
tyrant ; and as utterly subversive of his claims 
to the character of a Father to his creatures. 

How different, too, are the speculations of 
men in respect to the object for which Jesus 
Christ came into the world. Whilst some con- 
tend that it was to make an atonement for the 
sins of the world, others contend that such an 
atonement was entirely unnecessary. Whilst 



73 

the former declare that he became the propitia- 
tion for our sins, and that he died that man 
might live, the latter declare that he came only 
as a teacher of the race, to make known to 
them the truth of God, to illustrate the excel- 
lence of it in his own pure and spotless exam- 
ple, and after having given to it the testimony 
of his whole life, to seal that testimony with 
his blood. How various, and how contra- 
dictory, too, are the speculations of men in 
respect to the nature of Christ. Some affirm 
that he was equal with the Father, God mani- 
fest in the flesh, possessed of all his attributes, 
and as such entitled to an equal degree of 
reverence and honor. Others, on the contrary, 
affirm that he was a mere man, born into the 
world like other men, and though vastly superi- 
or to most of them in point of character, charge- 
able with many of their infirmities and defects. 
Others, again, take a sort of intermediate 
ground. They acknowledge that Christ was 
more than man : that he was even greater than 
angels. They do not, however, believe that he 
was God. They believe that he stands next to 
God in point of rank ; that he was the first- 
born of his creatures, that he has been invested 
with authority over them, and that he is en- 
titled to receive from them, honors almost, if 



74 

not quite divine. All these doctrines have been 
defended, perhaps, with an equal degree of 
ability. Error has sometimes had advocates 
who are no less gifted with education and 
talent, than the advocates of truth. They have 
been men of powerful minds, of great natural 
shrewdness, well skilled in all the arts of debate, 
insinuating in their style, and above all, of great 
weight of character. 

In the hands of such men, it is easy to 
perceive what advantages the cause of error 
must possess. Those who have perused their 
writings, know with what extreme plausibility 
they have often maintained their ground, and 
how difficult it has been even for those who 
have not been convinced by their arguments, to 
meet and to overthrow them. It cannot, there- 
fore, seem strange to us that every teacher of 
error should have his disciples ; more especially 
when that error falls in with the corrupt in- 
clinations of our own hearts, and those who 
listen to him have no means of confuting his 
statements, and are not accustomed, perhaps do 
not even wish, to think for themselves. But 
whilst, from the causes which I have mentioned, 
there are thousands in our world who are blown 
about by every wind of doctrine, there are some 
who believe the truth, and who remain firm in 



75 

their attachment to it. Such is the fact with 
those who have been taught by the Spirit of 
God. 

But what is it which holds them firm ? I 
answer, it is in part, that hope which is as an 
anchor of the soul. Now that hope is founded 
in the truth, and so interwoven and incorporated 
with it, that you cannot destroy the one, with- 
out destroying the other. The Christian be- 
lieves that he shall be saved ; but he believes it, 
because he also believes that Christ has made 
an atonement for his sins according to the 
Scriptures ; and he believes that such an atone- 
ment has been made, because the attributes of 
God required it ; because without such an atone- 
ment, God could not have been just, and yet 
the justifier of sinners. He also believes that 
such an atonement could have been made by no 
finite, no created being ; and that consequently 
he by whom it was made, could have been none 
other than God in human flesh, " the bright- 
ness of the Father's glory, and the express im- 
age of his person." Thus we perceive how 
closely the hope of the Christian is connected 
with the orthodoxy of his belief. What though 
his understanding, therefore, may be plied with 
the most specious and potent arguments in favor 
of some popular error ? What though, for in- 



76 

stance, all that has been said, all that can be 
said, against the doctrine of the atonement, 
should be arrayed before him in the most for- 
cible and impressive style ; what though he 
should be told that such a doctrine is dishonor- 
able to God, since it represents him as an impla- 
cable being, whose anger against the sinner can 
be appeased only with blood ; or that it is in- 
consistent with the dictates of reason and com- 
mon sense, to which nothing analogous in any 
human government can be found : that the in- 
nocent should be made to suffer for the guilty ; 
or that it is contradicted by all those numerous 
passages of the Bible in which God is said to be 
merciful and gracious, slow to anger, abundant in 
goodness and in truth : — he knows that all his 
hope of pardon and salvation is founded upon 
this controverted doctrine. He knows that when 
his conscience was burdened with a sense of sin, 
and he felt as if the avenger of blood was just 
behind him, and the wrath of God seemed just 
ready to burst upon him in torrents of over- 
whelming and eternal ruin, he could find no 
peace to his troubled spirit, until he found it in 
believing ; ay, in believing that Jesus Christ 
had made an atonement for his sins. The mo- 
ment that his eye fell distinctly upon the cross, 
he felt the burden of his guilt removed. Hope 



77 

sprung up in his stricken and darkened soul. 
And O how great were the consolations of that 
hope. It seemed to open before him a new 
world. Floods of joy were poured into his 
soul, of which he can never lose the remem- 
brance. Perhaps I ought rather to say, a foun- 
tain of joy was opened there, whose streams 
still continue to flow, and which he desires, nay 
which he firmly believes, will be perennial. 
Those, therefore, who have never had a similar 
experience ; who know nothing of the hope by 
which his breast is animated ; may say what 
they please in respect to the unreasonableness, 
nay the absolute impossibility of the atonement ; 
they may set up their own merits in opposition 
to the merits of Christ ; it will still be the lan- 
guage of his heart, " God forbid that I should 
glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I 
unto the world." He may not be able to an- 
swer all the objections which are alleged against 
the doctrine of the atonement ; he may be con- 
scious of a great deficiency of skill in defending 
it ; he may be charged with holding it without 
reason, and contrary to argument and to evi- 
dence ; he may be completely silenced by the 
cavils of his opponent ; and yet his belief in it 
will remain unshaken. And why ? Not from 
8 



78 

that pertinacity which adheres to any opinion 
which it may happen to embrace, whether it be 
right or wrong ; not from any obtuseness of in- 
tellect which cannot feel the force of an argu- 
ment, and which knows not how to weigh an 
objection ; but simply because his hope, the an- 
chor of his soul, is moored to it ; that hope 
which he would not exchange for ten thousand 
worlds. Thus we see that there is nothing like 
a good hope through grace, to preserve men 
from the dominion of error. In the language 
of the eloquent Melville, " You may liken the 
believer in Christ to a vessel launched on troub- 
led waters ; and you may consider skepticism 
and false doctrine as the storm which threatens 
him with shipwreck. And when you express 
surprise that a bark which seems so frail and so 
poorly equipped against the tempest, should ride 
out the hurricane, whilst others, a thousand 
times better furnished with all the resources of 
intellectual seamanship, drive from their moor- 
ings, and perish on the quicksand; we have 
only to tell you, that it is not by the strength of 
reason, and not through the might of mental 
energy, that moral shipwreck is avoided ; but 
that a hope of salvation will keep the vessel 
firm, when all the cables which man weaves for 
himself have given way like tow ; and that thus 



79 

in the wildest of the storms which evil men 
and evil angels can raise, this hope will verify 
the apostle's description, that it is an anchor of 
the soul, and that too, sure and steadfast." 

2. We live in a world of temptation. There 
is everything, both from without and from 
within, to draw us aside from the paths of duty j 
to induce us to go astray from God. The world 
is continually spreading out before us its silken 
nets. Sometimes it seeks to allure us by its 
riches. It appeals with an almost irresistible 
power to our love of possession. It speaks to 
us of the advantages which those riches, if ac- 
quired, would purchase for us. It seems to show 
us, as did the evil one to our Saviour, all the 
kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them ; 
and says to us, "All these things will I give 
thee, if thou wilt fall down, and worship me." 
How hard the great majority of men find it, to 
resist the temptation, is but too obvious from 
the ease with which they yield to it. 

O how many are there in our world, how 
many even in Christian lands, who live amidst 
the light and under the sound of the Gospel, 
who are the avowed, the open worshippers 
of Mammon ; who make gold their hope, and 
the fine gold their confidence. But the honors 
of the world, are no less attractive to multi- 



80 

tudes, than its riches. It is exceedingly grati- 
fying to the natural aspirations of the human 
heart to sit down upon the high places of the 
earth, and then to put forth an influence which 
is felt and acknowledged by thousands. To 
gain such a distinction, what efforts have men 
sometimes been willing to make. No danger 
has been esteemed too great to be encountered 
for its acquisition. It has been sought amid all 
the carnage and horrors of the battle field, 
amid the studies of the cloister, in the senate 
chamber, the popular assembly, and sometimes 
(shall I say it?) in the sanctuary, and even be- 
fore the altars of religion. It has stimulated all 
the worst passions of the human heart. It has 
led to falsehood, to treachery, to meanness, to 
cruelty, to the violation, in a single word, of 
the most sacred and solemn obligations. 

O what havoc has ambition made in our 
world. How in every age has it stained the 
pages of its history with blood. Millions of 
wealth have been expended to support its pre- 
tensions : millions of lives have been sacrificed 
at its shrine. How alluring, too, to the great 
majority of men are the pleasures of the world. 
But we cannot surely be surprised at it, when 
we reflect how loudly the appetites of our na- 
ture are continually clamoring for their gratifi- 



81 

cation. Men wish to gratify those appetites, and 
the world affords to them the means for so do- 
ing. And these means it knows how to present 
before them under the most seductive and cap- 
tivating forms. It knows how to excite the 
imagination, to dazzle the senses, to please the 
taste, to suit, indeed, its temptations to the char- 
acter, the temperament, the age, and the cir- 
cumstances of every one whom it seeks to 
subdue. Whilst therefore some of its victims 
are found wallowing in the lowest depths of 
sensuality, others are seen moving amidst the 
most refined and polished circles ; mingling in 
the giddy dance with all that is high in rank, 
resplendent in beauty, commanding in influence. 
Such then is the power which the world exerts; 
such are the temptations which it throws in the 
way of men. But to help forward the influence 
of the world, and to give to its temptations a 
greater power, we are told that the powers of 
darkness withhold not their aid. " Your adver- 
sary, the devil," says the apostle, " as a roaring 
lion, goeth about seeking whom he may de- 
vour." We find, accordingly, that he is contin- 
ually tempting men to do wrong ; to trample on 
the laws of God. To accomplish his purposes 
there is no art to which he does not resort. He 
knows the weakness of human nature. Its vul- 
8* 



82 

nerable points are all familiar to him. He 
knows, therefore, when he can make his attacks 
with the greatest hope of success. What has 
not man to fear from his intelligence and cun- 
ning. Is it strange that his power over the 
children of men should be so great, and in so 
many instances undisputed? that he should even 
have acquired for himself the portentous title of 
the Prince of this world ? 

But the worst enemies of man are, after all, 
to be found in his own heart. Were there no 
traitors in the citadel itself, it might be defended 
against outward attacks. The world and the 
devil could not prevail against man, if they had 
no confederates, no auxiliaries in his own bosom. 
But alas ! the human heart is depraved. It loves 
the world, and the things of the world. It is 
naturally averse to holiness, and to God. It is 
predisposed, therefore, to yield to every tempta- 
tion which may assail it. Nay, it not unfre- 
quently invites temptation. It throws open the 
door for its admission, and almost constrains it 
to enter. 

With such a proneness to sin, and with such a 
constant exposure to temptation, what is it which 
can keep even the Christian firm ? I answer, 
that hope which is an anchor to his soul. That 
hope is worth more to him than all the treas- 



83 

ures, all the honors, and all the enjoyments of 
earth. It is the hope, indeed, of treasures which 
are vastly more abundant and valuable than 
those for which he is tempted to barter his soul ; 
the hope of an inheritance in heaven which is 
incorruptible, undefiled, and which fadeth not 
away. It is the hope of honors infinitely great- 
er than any which the regal crown or the impe- 
rial purple could confer ; honors such as God 
only can bestow ; even the honor of standing 
with acceptance before his throne, and of being 
acknowledged as a son of the Highest. It is 
the hope of pleasures, compared to which all 
the enjoyments of this world deserve to be re- 
garded only as pains ; those pleasures which 
flow from constant communion with God, and 
from dwelling continually in the light of his 
countenance ; which consist in freedom from 
the power of sin, and in entire and everlasting 
exemption from its consequences. 

O how great, how unspeakably great, is the 
blessedness of the Christian. How bright are 
the prospects which open before him beyond 
the grave. "God," saith the Scripture, "shall 
wipe away all tears from their eyes ; and there 
shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor cry- 
ing, neither shall there be any more pain ; for 
the former things are passed away." " And 



84 

there shall be no more curse ; but the throne 
of God and of the Lamb shall be in it : and his 
servants shall serve him. And they shall see his 
face j and his name shall be in their foreheads. 
And there shall be no night there ; and they 
need no candle, neither light of the sun ; for 
the Lord God giveth them light ; and they shall 
reign forever and ever." Such are the objects 
of the Christian's hope. And now shall he ex- 
change this hope, so bright, so glorious, for any 
thing, yea, for all which the world can give ? 
He knows that if he yield to the temptations 
which surround him, he must relinquish this 
hope. It becomes therefore the language of his 
heart, 

In vain the world accosts my ear, 

And tempts my heart anew ; 
I cannot buy your bliss so dear, 

Nor part with heaven for you. 

We see, therefore, how the hope of the Chris- 
tian operates to keep him firm and immovable 
amidst the temptations to which he is exposed. 
3. We live in a world of sorrow. For man 
is born to trouble, even as the sparks fly upward. 
Sorrow is the necessary, the inevitable conse- 
quence of sin. We find, accordingly, that in 
the present world none are exempted from sor- 
row. Even those who profess to be the children 



85 

of God are sometimes called to drink the bitter 
cup. Indeed the Psalmist informs us that many 
are the afflictions of the righteous. And the 
Psalmist spoke from his own painful experi- 
ence. In instances almost innumerable, his 
heart had been made to bleed. He had been 
afflicted by the loss of some of his children un- 
der the most distressing and aggravated circum- 
stances, and by the perverse and wicked conduct 
of others. He had suffered from the treachery 
of pretended friends, and from the malice of 
open and avowed enemies. His spiritual sor- 
rows had been great. He knew what it was to 
experience the marks of God's displeasure, and 
to mourn the hidings of his countenance. But 
the experience of the Psalmist, if not in its mi- 
nuter details, at least in its general features, has 
been the experience of all the people of God. 
For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and 
scourgeth every son whom he receiveth. 

So long as Christians remain in a world of 
changes, they must expect like other men to be 
affected by those changes. As it is appointed 
unto all men once to die, they must expect that 
death will sometimes invade their own circle. 
They must expect to be separated from parents, 
from partners, from children, from brothers and 
sisters. As riches are constantly liable to take 



to themselves wings and fly away as an eagle 
toward heaven, they must not be surprised if, 
like other men, they are sometimes called to 
experience the most painful reverses of fortune ; 
if their ships should be wrecked by the tempest, 
their fields be blasted by the mildew, their 
houses be consumed with fire, their stocks be 
made valueless by causes which they could not 
foresee, and over which they have no control ; 
their earnings be wrested from them by vio- 
lence, or by fraud. But affliction, as its very 
name implies, is always hard to be borne. We 
know what its influence not unfrequently is 
upon the ungodly. It sinks them in despond- 
ency. It drives them to despair. Sometimes 
it is ruinous to their moral character, for it in- 
duces them to seek relief in some vicious and 
ruinous gratification ; to drown their griefs in 
the intoxicating bowl. Sometimes it is destruc- 
tive to their health. They brood over their 
misfortunes until the tone of their system is 
destroyed, and disease comes in to finish the 
work which mental anxiety had begun. It is 
to this fact that the apostle is supposed to refer 
when he declares that the sorrow of the world 
worketh death. Sometimes it deprives men of 
reason. Go to our insane hospitals, and how 
many will you find there, who have been re- 



87 

duced to their present pitiable condition by the 
loss of property or friends. Now it is obvious 
in respect to a great portion of these individuals, 
that their souls had no anchor to keep them 
firm and steady amidst the pitiless blasts, and 
fierce storms of adversity. Left, therefore, to 
their mercy, they were driven upon the rocks 
and the quicksands upon which they have made 
shipwreck. But the Christian has such an an- 
chor. That anchor is hope ; the hope of ever- 
lasting blessedness beyond the grave. Let what- 
ever may befall him in the present world ; 
though he should be deprived of every earthly 
dependence, and every earthly comfort, he can- 
not sink down into absolute despair, because 
hope whispers to him that the treasures of his 
soul remain untouched. He knows, or may 
know, that he has in heaven a better and an en- 
during substance ; and that when his present 
trials shall all be over, he will be admitted to 
its full and everlasting enjoyment. He hopes, 
too, that his present trials will only constitute 
a preparation for that enjoyment. For he finds 
it recorded in that blessed book which sets be- 
fore him the foundations of his hope, that all 
things shall work together for good to them that 
love God ; to them that are the called according 
to his purpose ; that his light affliction which is 



88 

but for a moment, shall work out for him, in the 
end, a far more exceeding and eternal weight of 
glory. And now must not such a hope as this 
keep his soul firm amidst the fiercest storms of 
adversity, and enable him to ride them out, if 
not in perfect peace, at least in safety ? The 
ship which lies at anchor cannot help feeling the 
storm which beats against her ; she must rise 
and fall with the excited billows. Sometimes 
those billows may break over her, and she may 
seem to be almost submerged beneath them. But 
the storm cannot prevail. She is anchored to a 
rock. When, therefore, the clouds shall be dis- 
persed, and the winds shall cease to blow, and 
the heavens shall recover their serenity, and the 
bosom of the great deep its calmness and its 
stillness, that gallant ship will be seen reposing 
there uninjured. And so it is with the Christian. 
Notwithstanding that he has an anchor to his 
soul, both sure and steadfast, when the storms of 
adversity are blowing around him he cannot 
help feeling them. Sometimes he may even be 
heard crying, Save me, O God ; for the waters 
are come in unto my soul. But although buffeted 
by the waves, and tossed up and down, like the 
billows, he cannot sink beneath them. His soul 
is in a sure place. Its anchor is cast within the 
veil. It has laid hold upon the Rock of Ages, 






89 

and no created power can tear it thence. How 
beautifully is this idea illustrated in those splen- 
did declarations of the Psalmist ; " Deep calleth 
unto deep at the noise of thy water spouts ; all 
thy waves and thy billows are gone over me." 
But although danger seemed thus to threaten 
him, he could not sink ; and hence we hear him 
immediately after, exclaiming, " Why art thou 
cast down, O my soul ? and why art thou dis- 
quieted within me ? Hope thou in God ; for I 
shall yet praise him, who is the health of my 
countenance, and my God." Yes ; it was hope 
which sustained him, and carried him safely 
through. It was the anchor of his soul, and 
therefore he felt that he had no reason for dis- 
couragement or fear. 

How precious, then, how unspeakably pre- 
cious, must be this hope. My friends, do you 
possess it ? O have you ever cast your anchor 
within the veil ? If not, how can you expect 
to encounter the storms and the tempests which 
are so common upon the ocean of life ? How 
far have they already driven you from the right 
and the safe course. And if you have not al- 
ready made shipwreck of the soul, it is only 
because the mercy of God has prevented it. — 
But that mercy, be assured, will not continue 
for ever. The rocks and the quicksands of 
9 



90 

everlasting ruin, although concealed from the 
view, are nigh at hand. You may therefore 
fall upon them before you are aware. And then, 
O how dreadful will be the shock. Let me 
urge you, therefore, to seek immediately, and 
with all your heart, the Christian's hope ; that 
hope which is as an anchor of the soul, both 
sure and steadfast, and which entereth into that 
within the veil. If thus sought, it may, through 
the mercy of God, be found. If you delay un^ 
til to-morrow, to-morrow may prove too late. 
Your souls may be lost ; irrecoverably, eternally 
lost. 



SERMON III. 



THE RAINBOW AROUND THE THRONE. 
And there was a rainbow round about the throne. — Rev. iv. 3. 

The rainbow is a beautiful object. It is 
interesting alike to the man of science, and to 
the most untutored savage ; to the little child, 
and to the hoary headed sage. The philosopher 
beholds in it an illustration of some of the laws 
of light, and a confirmation of the Newtonian 
theory of colors ; the poet, a theme for song, un- 
surpassed, if not unrivalled, amidst all the won- 
ders of the creation ; the most casual observer, 
an object which charms his senses, and gratifies 
his taste. But to no class of men does it come 
invested with so many interesting associations, 
as to the Christian ; for it carries him back to 
that period in the history of our world, when 
after the whole human family had been des- 



92 

troyed with the waters of a flood, with the 
exception of Noah and his household, God 
declared to this distinguished saint, "I will 
establish my covenant with you ; neither shall 
all flesh be cut off any more by the waters 
of a flood ; neither shall there any more be 
a flood to destroy the earth. And God said, 
this is the token of the covenant which I 
make between me and you, and every living 
creature that is with you, for perpetual gen- 
erations : I do set my bow in the cloud, and 
it shall be for a token of a covenant between 
me and the earth. And it shall come to pass, 
when I bring a cloud over the earth, that the 
bow shall be seen in the cloud : and I will 
remember my covenant, which is between me 
and you, and every living creature of all flesh ; 
and the waters shall no more become a flood to 
destroy all flesh. And the bow shall be in the 
cloud ; and I will look upon it, that I may 
remember the everlasting covenant between 
God and every living creature of all flesh that 
is upon the earth." 

What object can be conceived, better fitted to 
represent the divine mercy, spanning as it does 
the visible horizon ; its top reaching to heaven, 
and its ends resting apparently upon the earth ; 
as if it formed the medium of intercourse be- 



93 

tween these distant worlds ; whilst its transcen- 
dent beauty, contrasting with the dense black 
clouds which are round about and underneath 
it, speaks only of love, forgiveness, ' reconcili- 
ation and joy. It is probably for this reason, 
that in our text, the throne of God is represent- 
ed as encompassed with the rainbow. Not that 
such is in reality the fact ; but that so it was 
represented to the apostle in vision. " And 
immediately," he tells us, " I was in the spirit : 
And behold a throne was set in heaven, and 
one sat on the throne. And he that sat, was to 
look upon, like a jasper, and a sardine stone : 
and there was a rainbow round about the 
throne, in sight like unto an emerald." The 
description is evidently figurative ; but, like all 
the other figurative language of the Bible, it 
is full of meaning. There is, no doubt, a 
meaning in the jasper and sardine stone, to 
which he who sat upon the throne, is compared. 
Whether the speculations of learned men upon 
it are correct, I shall not now attempt to deter- 
mine. I will only remark, that it appears to 
me to be more uncertain, and more recondite, 
than the meaning of that part of the descrip- 
tion contained in our text. By the rainbow 
round about the throne, I think it can hardly be 
doubted that God's gracious covenant with his 
9* 



94 

own people is meant. By the words of our 
text, therefore, we are naturally led to consider, 

I. The nature of this covenant. 

II. Why it is compared to a rainbow ; and 

III. Why this rainbow is said to be round 
about the throne. 

I. Let us consider, for a few moments, the na- 
ture of God's gracious covenant ; or, as it is more 
frequently, and perhaps more correctly styled, the 
covenant of grace. That such a covenant does 
indeed exist, is obvious from numerous passages 
of Scripture, of which the following may be 
considered as a specimen. " And for this cause, 
he is the mediator of the new testament." The 
original word more properly signifies a covenant ; 
and for this reason, it should thus have been 
rendered, " He is the mediator of the new cov- 
enant, that by means of death, for the redemp- 
tion of the transgressions that were under the 
first testament (or first covenant) they which 
are called, might receive the promise of eternal 
inheritance. 5 ' "By so much was Jesus made a 
surety of a better covenant." " Likewise also 
the cup, after supper, saying, This cup is the 
new testament (the new covenant) in my blood, 
which is shed for you." Indeed, the book 
which contains the records of our faith, should 
be denominated, the New Covenant, rather than 



95 

the New Testament of our Lord and Saviour 
Jesus Christ ; since such is altogether a more 
literal interpretation of the Greek title by which 
in all ages it has been called ; and is altogether 
more in accordance with the strain of its teach- 
ings. There is therefore a great abundance 
of authority for the expression, " covenant of 
grace." 

But what does this covenant imply ? The 
word grace implies that it must be made with 
the undeserving, with sinners. Grace is unmer- 
ited favor, or rather favor shown to those who 
had forfeited it by their sins. Such, my friends, 
was the fact with the whole family of man. 
At an early period after their creation, they be- 
came corrupt. For " by one man's disobe- 
dience many were made sinners." They incur- 
red the penalty of that law which declares, 
" The soul that sinneth, it shall die." For "sin 
entered into our world, and death by sin ; and 
so death hath passed upon all men, for that 
all have sinned." After the fall, the whole hu- 
man race were in a lost condition. They were 
unfit for heaven, and the wrath of a holy God 
impended over them. The covenant of works, 
as it has been sometimes called, was violated ; 
and therefore could avail them nothing. As 
they could do nothing for themselves, what 



96 

could God do for them ? It is evident that he 
could save them only by entering into some 
new covenant with them : a covenant which, 
whatever might be its specific character, must 
necessarily be a covenant of grace. 

But how could he enter into such a cove- 
nant with them, consistently with his own glo- 
rious perfections, and with the honour of that 
law which they had broken, and whose every 
precept seemed to cry out for their destruction ? 
It would seem at nrst view, almost as impossible 
as it would for any earthly sovereign to enter 
into a covenant with a set of hardened rebels 
who, by their crimes, had rendered themselves 
deserving of death, and who by their weakness, 
and by their entire subjugation, are lying at his 
:y. But God. as the Scriptures inform us, 
contrived a plan by which all the difficulties 
which lay in the way of showing mercy to sin- 
ners, were removed. This plan is thus describ- 
ed to us by the Apostle : " For what the law 
could not do, in that it was weak through the 
flesh, God. sending his own Son in the likeness 
of sinful flesh, and for sin (or as it is rendered 
in the margin, by a sacrifice for sin) condemned 
sin in the flash.' 3 Christ "who knew no sin, 
became sin .'that is. a sin offering) for us. that 
we might be made the righteousness of God in 



97 

him." "He was wounded for our transgres- 
sions, he was bruised for our iniquities ; the 
chastisement of our peace was upon him ; and 
with his stripes we are healed." It appears, 
then, that Jesus Christ became our substitute in 
relation to the law of God ; so that in conse- 
quence of what he did and suffered on our be- 
half, it has no longer any penal claims upon us, 
if we become interested in his atoning sacrifice. 
Thus was the foundation laid for the establish- 
ment of a new covenant with the human race ; 
a covenant of mercy and of grace. 

But a covenant always implies conditions upon 
the part of both the contracting parties. What, 
then, does God agree to do for those who be- 
come interested in this covenant ; and what, on 
their part, are they required to do ? To answer 
these questions, may be regarded as the chief 
object for which all Scripture is given. Hence 
we find that the great central truth of all reve- 
lation is, that " God so loved the world, that he 
gave his only begotten Son, that whosever be- 
lieveth in him should not perish, but have ever- 
lasting life." In other words, if men will only 
believe in his Son Jesus Christ, God engages to 
bestow upon them all the blessings of salvation. 
Such may be considered as the most general or 
comprehensive view of what is meant by tho 



98 

covenant of grace. But in order to perceive all 
its excellence, and all its glorious fullness, it may 
be necessary to view it a little more in detail. 
We find it thus summarily described in the 
Westminster Confession of Faith. " The first 
covenant made with man was a covenant of 
works, wherein life was promised to Adam, and 
in him to his posterity, upon condition of per- 
fect and persona] obedience. Man, by his fall, 
having made himself incapable of life by that 
covenant, the Lord was pleased to make a 
second, commonly called the covenant of grace; 
wherein he freely offereth unto sinners life and 
salvation by Jesus Christ, requiring of them 
faith in him that they may be saved, and prom- 
ising to give unto all those that are ordained un- 
to life, his Holy Spirit, to make them willing 
and able to believe. This covenant was differ- 
ently administered in the time of the law, and 
in the time of the Gospel : under the law, it 
was administered by promises, prophecies, sac- 
rifices, circumcision, the paschal lamb, and other 
types and ordinances delivered to the people of 
the Jews ; all fore-signifying Christ to come, 
which were for that time sufficient and efficacious 
through the operations of the Spirit, to instruct 
and build up the elect in faith in the promised 
Messiah, by whom they had full remission of 



99 

sins, and eternal salvation ; and is called the Old 
Testament. Under the Gospel, when Christ the 
substance was exhibited, the ordinances in which 
this covenant is dispensed, are the preaching of 
the word, and the administration of the sacra- 
ments of baptism and the Lord's supper ; which 
though fewer in number, and administered with 
more simplicity, and less outward glory, yet in 
them, it is held forth in more fullness, evidence, 
and spiritual efficacy > to all nations, both Jews 
and Gentiles ; and is called the New Testa- 
ment." 

We perceive therefore that the foundation of 
the covenant of grace is laid in the sufferings of 
Christ. He became a sin-offering for us, who 
knew no sin, that we might be made the right- 
eousness of God in him. Its conditions are, on 
our part, the acceptance of the Lord Jesus 
Christ for our Saviour ; an act which implies a 
hearty sorrow and true repentance for all our 
sins, a cordial forsaking of them, a total renun- 
ciation of self, and an entire reliance upon the 
merit of Christ ; — on the part of God, salvation, 
with every thing which it implies, such as the 
pardon of our sins, the sanctification of our na- 
tures, the aid and the guidance of the Holy 
Spirit, victory over death, and life everlasting in 
heaven. " As for me, this is my covenant with 



100 

them, saith the Lord ; my Spirit that is upon 
thee, and my words which I have put in thy 
mouth, shall not depart out of thy mouth, nor 
out of the mouth of thy seed, nor out of the 
mouth of thy seed's seed, saith the Lord, from 
henceforth and for ever." "A new heart also 
will I give you, and a new spirit will I put 
within you ; and I will take away the stony 
heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an 
heart of flesh ; and I will put my Spirit within 
you, and cause you to walk in my statutes, and 
ye shall keep my judgments and do them." 
" All that the Father giveth me," says the 
Saviour, " shall come to me ; and him that Com- 
eth to me, I will in no wise cast out." " No 
man can come to me, except the Father which 
hath sent me draw him ; and I will raise him 
up at the last day." " No good thing will he 
withhold from them that walk uprightly." 
Such are the blessings included in the covenant 
of grace ; all promised to man upon the plain 
and reasonable condition of believing in the 
Lord Jesus Christ. Having thus considered its 
nature, we are now prepared to inquire, 

II. Why, in our text, it is compared to a 
rainbow. 

One reason, perhaps, may be, that it affords 
so interesting a subject for human contempla- 



101 

tion. As the rainbow is the most beautiful 
object which the eye can contemplate ; as its 
various colors, bright, soft, harmonious, com* 
bined into the arch, that most symmetrical and 
perfect of all geometrical forms, affords the 
highest possible gratification to the sense of 
sight ; so the covenant of grace is the most 
cheering, the most delightful subject which the 
mind can contemplate. It is full of brightness, 
symmetry and beauty. The Christian never 
tires in gazing upon it. Sometimes, indeed, 
by reason of the darkness which is in him, he 
may lose sight of it. The throne of God may 
seem to him to be surrounded only with thick 
clouds. He may be able to discover no rain* 
bow there. He may therefore be seen turning 
away his thoughts and contemplations from it. 
But let it break upon his soul in all its match- 
less and perfect beauty, and it cannot help 
fixing his admiring gaze. O, think you that 
the vision which the apostle saw in our text 
palled upon his senses, or that he wished it to 
be withdrawn ? Think you not rather that the 
effect upon him was entrancing ; that he would 
have been willing to die amidst all the glories 
of such a scene ? 

Another reason for representing the covenant 
of grace under the image or figure of the rain- 
10 



102 

bow, may be traced to the cause assigned for 
that promise of God, of which the first rain- 
bow, referred to in sacred history, was the 
token. " And the Lord smelled a sweet savor ; 
and the Lord said in his heart, I will not again 
curse the ground any more for man's sake." 
So the sacrifice of Christ is styled by the 
apostle a sweet smelling savor, and that, too, 
to God ; and therefore he resolves no more to 
visit with a curse those in whose behalf it was 
offered. As a pledge and a promise of which, 
he has set his rainbow, not in the visible heav- 
ens, but round about his throne. 

Another reason for the employment of this 
figure may be, that the rainbow round about 
the throne is significant of a covenant which 
shall endure as long as that which was made 
with Noah. The latter implied perpetuity, and 
so does the former. God calls it an everlasting 
covenant between himself and every living 
creature of all flesh that is upon the earth. So 
the covenant of grace is everlasting. Says 
David, " Although my house be not so with 
God, yet hath he made with me an everlasting 
covenant, ordered in all things and sure." 
" The mountains shall depart, and the hills be 
removed ; but my kindness shall never depart 
from thee, neither shall my covenant of peace 






103 

be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on 
thee." " Incline your ear, and come unto me ; 
hear, and your soul shall live ; and I will make 
an everlasting covenant with you, even the sure 
mercies of David." " I will make a covenant 
of peace with them ; it shall be an everlasting 
covenant with them ; and will set my sanc- 
tuary in the midst of them forever more." "I 
will betroth thee unto me forever, in righteous- 
ness, in judgment, and in loving kindness, and 
in mercies ; I will even betroth thee to me in 
faithfulness, and thou shalt know that I am the 
Lord." O, if the covenant of grace could be 
annulled, what a death-blow would it give to 
the hopes of the Christian. But no ; the rain- 
bow about the throne assures him that it is as 
firm and as durable as the pillars of heaven. 

But there may be still another reason why 
the covenant of grace is represented to us under 
the image of the rainbow. The rainbow is 
said by the natural philosopher to be occasioned 
in part, by the reflection of the sun's rays from 
the rain-drops of the falling shower. So the 
covenant of grace, the rainbow round about the 
throne, may be regarded as a reflection of tha 
brightest glories of the Sun of Righteousness. 
O yes, there is nothing more glorious than this 
covenant. It is illumined by the brightest 



104 

beams of heaven. " For if the ministration of 
condemnation be glory/' says the apostle, 
" much more doth the ministration of righteous- 
ness exceed in glory. For even that which 
was made glorious, had no glory in this respect, 
by reason of the glory that excelleth." God is 
most eminently glorified by the salvation of 
sinners. But the glories of the natural sun are 
manifested in the rainbow in a very peculiar 
way. By means of the refracting and reflect- 
ing influences of the drops of rain upon which 
his rays fall, those rays are decomposed, and 
they are shown to us in all their original colors. 
We see exhibited before us, as it were, the 
elements of light, and are made to see how 
they are combined together by the wisdom of 
God, to produce their cheering and benign 
effects. So in the covenant of grace, the rain- 
bow round about the throne, all the elements of 
the divine character are exhibited, as it were, to 
our view, and we are made to see what it is 
which constitutes his holiness, his perfection, 
his glory. There we see those attributes 
which, at the first view, seemed to be at vari- 
ance with each other, mingling harmoniously 
together ; justice and mercy, righteousness and 
grace. At the same time, as the colors of the 
rainbow are perfectly distinct 2 so these attri- 



105 

butes are all distinct. Not one interferes with, 
or obscures another. The covenant of grace 
may be regarded as a sort of spiritual prism, in 
which the holiness of God, by which we under- 
stand the perfection of his character, is sep- 
Etrated into its essential or component parts. 
All the colors of the rainbow are there ; from 
the fiery red of his eternal justice, down to 
those softer hues, which indicate his mercy. 
The rainbow in our text, is said to have been 
in sight like unto an emerald. The emerald, it 
is known, is green ; the color which perhaps of 
all colors is the most refreshing to the eye. 
Hence it is that with which God has seen fit to 
clothe the grass of the field, and the leaves of 
the trees. The reason, therefore, why this 
color is said to predominate in the rainbow 
about the throne, is obvious. It is emblemat- 
ical of the mercy of God ; the attribute which, 
of all attributes, is the most attractive to the 
eye of sinners ; the only one indeed, which 
affords them any ground for encouragement ; 
any foundation for hope. Such are some of 
the reasons which have suggested themselves 
to my own mind, why the covenant of grace is 
compared to a rainbow. But why is this rain- 
bow said to be about the throne ? This, you 
10* 



106 

will remember, is the third point which we 
proposed to consider. 

III. One reason doubtless is, that this throne 
would otherwise be unapproachable by sinners. 
They could not even bear to gaze upon it, for 
it would seem to them to be encompassed only 
with the clouds and darkness of God's dis- 
pleasure. 

Once 'twas a seat of dreadful wrath, 

And shot devouring flame ; 
Our God appeared consuming fire, 

And vengeance was his name. 

Yes, my friends, before the rainbow encom- 
passed the throne, it was an object of unspeak- 
able terror to the sinner. And if that rainbow 
were not still round about it, it would be an 
object of terror now. Let the sinner cast his 
eye toward the heavens when the thunderstorm 
is rising out of the west. As he sees the 
clouds gathering blackness, and rolling rapidly 
up toward the zenith, casting their fearful shad- 
ows upon the waters beneath, and filling the 
very atmosphere with gloom ; as he hears the 
sound of the thunder, at first apparently remote, 
but at each successive clap approaching nearer 
and nearer ; as he sees the forked lightning in- 
creasing in vividness, until its bolts seem just 
ready to fall upon his devoted head ; who 



107 

can describe the anxiety and alarm with which 
his bosom is filled? He hardly dares look 
toward the heavens, for they seem to him to be 
charged with the wrath of the Almighty, and 
big with his own ruin. What then must be 
his emotion, when suddenly the clouds which 
had just now looked down upon him with 
so threatening an aspect, are seen rolling away 
to some distant point in the horizon ; when the 
bright sun breaks forth in all his glory from un- 
derneath the veil which they had spread over 
him ; and when in accordance with nature's 
eternal laws, he sees the rainbow painted in 
colors of light and beauty, upon the opposite 
heavens, a token that the storm is over ; that the 
danger is passed. 

Must not he gaze upon it, not only Avith the 
pleasure of one who beholds an object of sur- 
passing loveliness, but with the rapture of one, 
who beholds in it, a pledge of deliverance from 
danger and destruction. O, to him the heavens 
are never as beautiful, as when spanned with 
this arch of promise and mercy. The very 
cloud which lately appeared to him so terrible, 
adds, by its contrast, to the glory of the scene. 
When it constituted the fore-ground of the pic- 
ture, he could not bear to look upon it ; as its 
back-ground, it seems to him to be essential to 
its perfection. 



108 

Now to man without a Saviour, that heaven 
which is the throne of the Almighty is shroud- 
ed in darkness. Observe with what sublimity 
of thought and of language, this sentiment is 
expressed by the Psalmist. "He bowed the 
heavens also, and came down ; and darkness 
was under his feet. And he rode upon a cherub, 
and did fly : yea, he did fly upon the wings of 
the wind. And he made darkness his secret 
place ; his pavilion round about him were 
dark waters and thick clouds of the skies. 
The Lord thundered from heaven, and the 
Highest gave his voice. Yea, he sent out his 
arrows, and scattered them ; and he shot out 
lightnings, and discomfited them. Then the 
channels of waters were seen, and the founda- 
tions of the world were discovered at thy re- 
buke, O Lord, at the blast of the breath of thy 
nostrils." 

Such my friends, are the terrors which sur- 
round God's throne in the heavens, so long as 
man continues without a Saviour. How then, 
in all his feebleness and all his guilt, can he 
dare to gaze upon it ? He has reason to fear, 
that the next flash which issues from it will 
strike him down to perdition. 

But amidst all the terrors of the scene, the 
clouds and thick darkness, the storm and tern- 



109 

pest of almighty wrath, let the Sun of Right- 
eousness break forth in all his transcendent glory, 
and lo, upon the very clouds which but just 
now appeared so full of terror, a rainbow is seen, 
reflecting the brightest glories of that sun, and 
affording a pledge to him who beholds it, of the 
cessation of the tempest, of deliverance from 
danger, of reconciliation and peace. And that 
rainbow spans the heavens. It is round about 
the throne. The sinner, therefore, may now 
gaze upon that throne without one emotion of 
terror; nay, with gratitude and joy. What 
though the cloud is still upon it ? Its thunders 
are hushed. Its lightnings sleep. It holds the 
tokens of mercy in its bosom, and by the dark- 
ness of its own aspect, its contrasted gloom 
onty causes the brightness and the beauty of 
that token to appear the more conspicuous. 
That man, therefore, may approach the throne 
of God without apprehension, the rainbow is 
seen to be round about it. 

But still another reason, perhaps, may be as- 
signed for the expression. Its nearness to the 
throne denotes how much God thinks of it. 
He has placed it so near to his own seat, that 
we may be sure he will never lose sight of 
it. Not that we would be understood to insin- 
uate that a God of infinite knowledge needs. 



110 

like forgetful man, to be reminded of his cove- 
nant by any external sign ; but only that in ac- 
commodation to our habits of thought and con- 
ception, he has been pleased thus to represent 
it; so that faith may be aided by imagination, 
and confidence in God increased by a figurative 
representation of that which increases our con- 
fidence in man. And in the language employed 
upon this subject, I find myself borne out by 
the language of the Bible. Thus in reference 
to the rainbow which God set in the cloud after 
the deluge, we hear him declaring, " And it shall 
come to pass, when I bring a cloud over the 
earth, that the bow shall be seen in the cloud ; 
and I will remember my covenant which is be- 
tween me and you, and every living creature of 
all flesh ; and the waters shall no more become 
a flood to destroy all flesh. And the bow shall 
be in the cloud ; and I will look upon it, that I 
may remember the everlasting covenant between 
God and every living creature of all flesh that 
is upon the earth." God here speaks of setting 
his bow where he may behold it, as if he need- 
ed to be reminded of the covenant of which it 
is the emblem, and the pledge ; a mode of ex- 
pression which is evidently adapted to our own 
habits of thought and expression. 

We feel, therefore, justified in asserting that 



Ill 

the rainbow which the apostle saw in vision, 
is said to have been round about the throne, as 
a proof that God will never lose sight of it, will 
never forget it, or rather will never lose sight of 
the covenant of which it is the token. " For 
this is, as the waters of Noah unto me ; for as I 
have sworn that the waters should no more go 
over the earth; so have I sworn that I would 
not be wroth with thee, nor rebuke thee. For 
the mountains shall depart, and the hills be re- 
moved ; but my kindness shall not depart from 
thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace 
be removed, saith the Lord, that hath mercy on 
thee." 

Yes, my friends, because the rainbow is round 
about the throne, the Christian has nothing to 
fear. Not only is the tempest hushed for the 
present, but it is hushed forever. God will 
never forget his covenant ; he will never suffer 
it to be annulled. 

In conclusion I would remark, 

1. What consolation does our subject afford 
to the Christian. O, with what glories does the 
throne of God appear to him to be invested. 
Although oppressed with a sense of his unwor- 
thiness, he need not fear to cast his eye towards 
it, for he will behold the rainbow there. Let 
him then fix his eye upon it, until his heart be- 



112 

comes filled with all that love, and gratitude, 
and joy, which it is calculated to inspire. O, 
who can gaze upon it, and still remain unaffect- 
ed by its beauty, and unmoved by all its inter- 
esting and heart-stirring associations. We ought 
to regard the rainbow round about the throne, 
as our greatest stimulus to the cultivation of 
every Christian grace, and the exercise of every 
Christian virtue. But 

2. Are there any here, who, conscious of their 
own inherent vileness, tremble in view of de- 
served wrath, and who dare not lift up their 
eyes toward the throne of God, lest they should 
see it shooting forth those flames of vengeance, 
which are destined to consume their souls ? My 
friends, our subject tells you that you may dis- 
miss your fears. That throne is no longer the 
seat of wrath which it once was. The Sun of 
Righteousness is shining upon the clouds on 
which it rests, and has painted the rainbow 
there. O then, banishing your despair, look 
toward it with the eye of faith, and in the name 
of God, I am authorized to assure you that your 
souls shall live ; shall live forever. 



SERMON IV. 



THE HEAVENLY CITY.* 

And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine 
in it 3 for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light 
thereof. — Rev. xxi. 24. 

In the chapter before us, heaven is exhibited 
to view under the image of a city, whose mag- 
nificence can be represented only by the richest 
and brightest of earthly objects. Its streets 
are therefore said to be paved with gold, its 
foundations to be inlaid with all manner of 
precious stones, its gates to be of pearl. But 
when the sacred writer attempts to describe the 
light which shines upon it, and by which its 
inhabitants are illuminated, all earthly analogies 
seem to fail him. He can find no image within 

* It is a significant and touching circumstance, that this is 
the last sermon which Mr. March ever wrote. It was finished 
the day on which he was seized with his mortal sickness ; and, 
of course, was never preached. 

11 



114 

the compass of human knowledge which is able 
to set it forth. Even the sun and the moon 
grow dark before it. " The city had no need 
of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it ; 
for the glory of God did lighten it, and the 
Lamb is the light thereof." And yet it is from 
these luminaries that we derive all our best ideas 
of brightness, and of beauty. To ourselves, 
nothing can be more glorious than the sun, 
shining in his strength ; nothing more beautiful 
than the moon, reflecting w^ith her chaste and 
softened radiance, his beams. 

What, my friends, would be the condition 
of our earth without these luminaries ? We 
should have no day ; but one long, dismal, 
everlasting night would brood over all the 
works of creation. Our eyes would be useless, 
for there would be nothing for them to gaze 
upom In vain would be the graceful or majestic 
form. In vain would the mountain rise toward 
heaven, and the valley lie stretched out at its 
feet. In vain would the river wind its way 
toward the ocean ; and that ocean would heave 
its billows in vain. In vain would the forest 
put forth its leaves, and the flower unfold its 
petals, and the pastures of the wilderness be 
clothed with verdure ; for there would be no 
sun to shine upon them by day ; no moon by 



115 

night. For all our conceptions of majesty and 
beauty, it is to these sources of light that we 
are indebted. So long therefore as we continue 
in the present world, we need them ; we could 
not dispense with their aid, and they are all 
that we need. A brighter light than that of the 
sun, a softer radiance than that of the moon, can. 
hardly be conceived. 

What then must be the splendors of that 
world where they have no need of the sun, 
neither of the moon, because of the glory which 
fills it, and which far outshines them both ; a 
glory proceeding from him who is the Author of 
light, and who, in the expressive language of 
Scripture, is the Light itself ; by whom the sun 
and the moon were created, and from whom, of 
course, all their effulgence was derived. Yes, my 
friends, God himself is the light of the heaven- 
ly world, as the sun and the moon, those crea- 
tures of his power, are the light of this world. 

How far the language of our text is to be 
understood in a literal sense, may, perhaps, be a 
matter of doubt. That it is not, however, to 
be understood altogether in a figurative sense, 
seems to me to be obvious. We shall, doubt- 
less, possess in heaven, if permitted to enter 
there, the faculty of vision. I know not why it 
may not even be predicated of the disembodied 



116 

spirit ; for whilst in the body, it surely possesses 
this faculty. It is not the eye which sees, but 
the spirit which stands, as it were, behind it, 
and which makes use of it, as the astronomer 
makes use of his telescope. The eye is a mere 
instrument, without perception and without in- 
telligence : curiously contrived indeed, and most 
wonderfully adapted to its purpose. But of 
what use would it be without the intelligent 
spirit upon whom it has been bestowed to aid 
its power of vision, or rather to enable it, so long 
as it continues in the body, to exercise that 
power. But when it leaves the body, why 
may we not suppose that it will no longer need 
such an instrument; that it will see directly, 
and no longer through a glass ; not darkly, as 
now, but clearly : 

But the Scriptures teach us that even the 
body is to be raised again : and although it will 
be incorruptible and immortal, free from all its 
present grossness, and present infirmities, that it 
will be substantially the same body that it now 
is. All that is essential to its identity will still 
remain. But if so, the eye which was dimmed 
by death, must be once more lighted up, and as 
we have reason to believe, it will be vastly im- 
proved. All its present imperfections will be 
removed. It will be capable of seeing more 



117 

clearly than ever before. But if we possess the 
faculty of vision, we shall need to dwell in 
light ; for without light, this faculty would 
prove to us of no avail. But from whence can 
this light proceed, in a world where there is no 
sun, no moon ? From whom can it proceed, 
but from Him who created these luminaries, and 
hung them in our own visible heaven, and who 
has declared that when they have accomplished 
all the objects for which they were created, he 
means to extinguish them ? We believe, then, 
that to interpret the words of our text in a liter- 
al sense, would not be inconsistent with truth. 
We believe that heaven is made light by the 
glory of God, and of the Lamb. But we be- 
lieve, too, that this glory infinitely exceeds, both 
in its brightness and beauty, the glory of our 
own bright and beautiful sun, when he is pour- 
ing down upon us his noon-day beams, and 
filling the whole creation with splendor. 

But whilst we believe, in a qualified sense, 
in the literal interpretation of our text, we be- 
lieve that it is susceptible of a figurative inter- 
pretation ; an interpretation far more important 
and precious. To this, therefore, it will be my 
object, in the following discourse, to call your 
attention. 

Our text, then, asserts that the glory of God 
11* 



118 

lightens heaven, and that the Lamb is the light 
thereof. From these words we infer that the 
glory of God is concentrated, as it were, in the 
Lamb ; or in other words, that it shines forth 
through the Lamb. These two expressions are 
certainly represented as synonymous, or equiva- 
lent. It will be, then, in heaven, as the apostle 
informs us it is now and ever will be on earth. 
"For God who commanded the light to shine 
out of darkness hath shined in our hearts, to 
give the light of the knowledge of the glory of 
God in the face of Jesus Christ." Christ, then, 
it seems, the Lamb of God, is the great moral 
light of the universe. He is not only the Sun 
of Righteousness to those who dwell in this 
world, but to those who dwell in heaven ,* to 
angels, no less than to men. Indeed this seems 
to be a most natural inference from the words 
of our text. " The Lamb is the light thereof." 
But if so, every order of beings, from the high- 
est to the lowest, who inhabit that blessed 
world, must derive their light from him. Pie 
pours his beams upon the archangel, no less than 
upon the humblest saint. But this idea is an 
important one, since it tends to confirm, in a 
signal and most interesting manner, the great 
doctrine of our Lord's divinity. If he be in- 
deed the light of heaven, and if, as this light, 



119 

he is the glory of God, must he not be divine ? 
I have made these remarks in order to show 
that the whole essence of our text is in reality- 
contained in the latter clause of it. " The 
Lamb is the light thereof." This is the point 
which I shall now seek to illustrate. In what 
respects then is Christ the Lamb, in a figurative 
sense, the light of heaven ? 

1. He is so, because of his own inherent 
beauty and perfection. Light, as I have al- 
ready suggested, is the fairest of the works of 
God. Hence in all ages, and so far as we 
know, in all languages, it has been regarded as 
the emblem of all that is excellent, and all that 
is glorious. As such, you know it is often em- 
ployed by the sacred writers. It is indeed the 
emblem under which they exhibit to us God 
himself. " God is light." In Milton's sublime 
apostrophe to light, therefore, there is nothing 
unnatural, nothing extravagant. 

" Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first born, 
Or of the Eternal, co-eternal beam ! 
May I express thee unblam'd ? since God is light, 
And never but in unapproached light, 
Dwelt from eternity, dwelt there in thee, 
Bright effluence of bright essence increate." 

The sun, which is to us the source of light, 
is the glory of this lower world. But what the 



120 

sun is to this lower world, such is Christ to 
heaven. He is its chief glory ; nay the source 
of all its glory. So far as light is the emblem 
of excellence, he is light, and in him is no dark- 
ness at all. Where is to be found moral beauty, 
compared with that of the Saviour ? He pos- 
sesses every conceivable excellence, and that in 
the highest perfection. Wisdom, power, holi- 
ness, justice, goodness, truth, all unite to form 
in him a character which all holy beings rever- 
ence, admire, and love. 

2. Christ is the light of heaven, because of 
the knowledge which he imparts to its blessed 
inhabitants. Now for most of the knowledge 
which we possess in the present world, we are 
indebted to the light. It is literally true, as the 
apostle declares, that whatsoever maketh mani- 
fest is light. Without light, we should not be 
acquainted with the size, the form, the color, 
or the situation, of the ten thousand objects by 
which we are surrounded. All that we should 
know about visible things, would be what oth- 
ers had taught us, or what may be ascertained 
by other senses than that of sight. We might 
become acquainted by the sense of smell, with 
the fragrance of the rose ; by the sense of touch, 
we might become acquainted with ite form and 
structure ; but what should we know of its 



121 

actual beauties ? If born blind, we should be 
compelled to dispense, in great measure, with 
that kind of knowledge, which is derived from 
books. We should remain everlasting strangers 
to the choicest beauties of nature, and of art ; 
we should remain forever ignorant of the fea- 
tures of our fellow-men, not excepting our best 
beloved friends. We perceive, then, how much 
we are indebted to the light for our knowledge 
of earthly things. But through the Lamb of 
God, light is thrown upon a multitude of sub- 
jects most interesting and most important to be 
known, of which the inhabitants of heaven 
must have remained forever ignorant, but for 
this light. Some of the perfections of the God- 
head could never have been revealed, at least 
so far as we can see, but for the Lamb who was 
slain. 

The fact that Christ is represented to us 
under the figure of the Lamb, is a proof that it 
is in the particular relation which this figure is 
employed in the sacred Scriptures to indicate, 
that he is the light of heaven. This relation, 
you know, is that of the Redeemer and Saviour 
of men. Now the Scriptures inform us that 
" God is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, 
forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin." But 
how could these attributes, which to us appear 



122 

the brightest which adorn the character of 
God, ever have been revealed to the universe, 
to angels, or to men, if Christ had not become 
incarnate, or if he had not suffered and died on 
our behalf? That God should forgive sin, 
appears, at the first view, inconsistent with his 
holiness, his justice and his truth; inconsistent 
with his holiness, because it implies reconcilia- 
tion with one whom sin has polluted ; inconsis- 
tent with his justice, because it restores him to a 
rank which he has plainly forfeited, and to 
which he deserves not to be restored ; incon- 
sistent with his truth, because he has declared 
that the soul, the spirit, which sinneth, be it 
human or angelic, shall die. 

How then can such an attribute as mercy 
exist in the divine character ; or if it exists 
there, how can it possibly be manifested ? Now 
it is obvious that the more perfectly the divine 
character is known, the greater satisfaction must 
it afford to all holy beings. It is important, 
therefore, that all its attributes should be devel- 
oped to their view ; that no one of them should 
be concealed. How then can it be seen that 
God is merciful and gracious, as well as holy 
and just? How it might have been seen, we 
are not qualified, perhaps, to say. How it has 
been seen, we know. In the cross of Christ (to 



123 

employ the language of the Psalmist) mercy 
and truth are met together ; righteousness and 
peace have kissed each other. Yes, in the 
Lamb of God, the Lamb that was slain, we see 
mercy triumphing over judgment, and that too 
without any sacrifice of those attributes to 
which it seemed to be opposed ; nay, even 
combining with them, satisfying all their claims, 
and shedding over them a new lustre. Yes, 
in the Lamb of God we see, and all holy beings 
see, how God may be just, and yet the justifier 
of the ungodly. What a light, therefore, is 
poured by him over the divine character. How 
clearly and how wonderfully does he reveal to 
us that most cheering of all truths, that truth 
which sends such a thrill of rapture through all 
the heavenly hosts, through seraph bands, as 
well as through the company of the redeemed ; 
God is love. 

Whilst I have declared that the glory of God 
will probably be manifested to the universe, 
only through the Lamb, I would not be under- 
stood to assert that a portion of it, at least, 
might not be manifested in some other way. 
There are certain attributes of the divine char- 
acter which did not need the aid of the cross 
for their manifestation. Thus the power of 
God is most strikingly manifest in all the works 



124 

of creation, especially in the ten thousand suns 
which sparkle in the regions of space, with the 
ten thousand times ten thousand worlds which 
revolve around them. His goodness is manifest 
in all the life, intelligence and joy, which are 
spread over our own world ; in all the benev- 
olent arrangements which the inanimate portion 
of the creation exhibits for that which is ani- 
mate. O how does it breathe forth in the sweet 
odors of spring, and in the gentle gales of 
summer. How is it inscribed on every flower 
which blooms, and in every opening leaf. How 
has it written itself in letters of light on the 
heavens ; and how has it robed the earth in 
beauty. 

But in the works of creation, the wisdom of 
God is no less apparent. " O Lord, how mani- 
fold are thy works ! in wisdom hast thou made 
them all." If, therefore, God were not mani- 
fested to the universe under the figure of a 
Lamb, but simply as a pure and infinite spirit, 
his glory would enlighten heaven. His natural 
attributes would at least be seen in all those 
wonderful works which his hands have formed. 
And we have reason to believe that some of his 
moral attributes also might thus be manifested. 
Let him come out against all the transgressors 
of his law, in the terrors of his wrath, dooming 



125 

them, as he did the angels who kept not their 
first estate, to an eternity of wretchedness ; and 
what an evidence, what an illustration would it 
afford of his justice, his holiness, and his truth. 

But to see God precisely as he is, we should 
need a brighter light to shine upon his character 
than would thus be afforded to us by the works 
of his hands, and the moral dispensations of his 
providence. In these we might discover his 
knowledge, wisdom, power and goodness ; his 
justice, holiness and truth. But mercy, for- 
bearance, grace, forgiveness would be wanting 
to fill up our idea of the divine perfection. 
But when God is exhibited to us, as in our text, 
under the image of a Lamb, we see these latter 
attributes, blending most delightfully with the 
former. Yes, and even adding to them a new 
lustre ; so that our conceptions of the sterner 
attributes of his character are enlarged and 
elevated. His holiness, his justice, his truth 
appear more conspicuous, more glorious. Thus 
we see in how significant a sense, the Lamb 
is the light of heaven. 

3. The natural light is a source of joy to the 
inhabitants of earth. All creatures whose senses 
are adapted to the day, rejoice in the light. 
With what enraptured notes, what songs of 
gladness, does a great portion of the feathered 
12 



126 

tribes welcome the return of the morning. No 
sooner is the eastern sky illuminated with its 
first dawning beams, than the forest and the 
field are made vocal with their melodies. Just 
so is it with a large portion of quadrupeds. 
With the return of day, they seem to wake up 
to a new life. Just so is it with man. Who 
has never felt himself inspired with the fresh- 
ness of the morning ? Some physiologists have 
contended that the light produces a change in 
the system itself ; imparting to it a sensation of 
vigor and of joyousness to which, during the 
darkness of night, it is a stranger. How wel- 
come is the light to the man who has spent the 
night in watching. The Psalmist makes use of 
this fact, to set forth the intensity of his own 
spiritual longings ; " My soul waiteth for the 
Lord, more than they that watch for the morn- 
ing : I say, more than they that watch for the 
morning." 

But as the natural light is thus a source of joy 
on earth, so is Christ the source of all joy in 
heaven. On this account, therefore, as well as 
the others which have been specified, the Lamb 
is the light of the celestial world. O what rap- 
ture will his presence afford throughout the ages 
of eternity, to those who have been saved by 
his merits. It is now the language of their 



127 

hearts, " whom have we in heaven but thee ; 
and there is none upon the earth whom we de- 
sire besides thee." But when they shall see 
him as he is, how much more lovely, and how 
much more precious will he seem to them. 
What joy will it afford them to study his per- 
fections. What joy to sing forth his praises. 
With what rapturous emotions will they sing 
the new song, " Thou art worthy to take the 
book and to open the seals thereof: for thou 
wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by thy 
blood, out of every kindred, and tongue, and 
people, and nation ; and hast made us unto our 
God kings and priests ; and we shall reign on 
the earth." Thus in this sense, the Lamb will 
be the light of heaven to the redeemed. But 
from what follows the remarkable passage we 
have recited, it appears that he will be so, too, 
to those who have never needed redemption. 
"And I beheld," says the apostle, " and I 
heard the voice of many angels round about the 
throne, and the beasts, and the elders : and 
the number of them was ten thousand times ten 
thousand, and thousands of thousands ; Saying 
with a loud voice, Worthy is the Lamb that was 
slain, to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, 
and strength, and honor, and glory, and bless-* 
ing." 



128 

To all beings, therefore, who inhabit the 
bright world of glory, from the highest archan- 
gel to the meanest saint, we perceive that the 
Lamb is the light thereof. 

1. We are then led to remark, in the first place, 
how important was the object for which our 
blessed Lord became incarnate. It was not mere- 
ly that he might save earth, but that he might 
enlighten heaven. It was not merely that he 
might manifest good will to men, but to angels. 
Not only to secure the happiness of the former, 
which they had forfeited by their sins ; but to 
add inconceivably and immensely to the happi- 
ness of the latter. Indeed, I know not how 
any man can study the great plan of man's re- 
demption as revealed to us in the sacred Scrip- 
tures, without being convinced that it has impor- 
tant relations to other worlds beside our own, 
and to other creatures beside ourselves. That 
man was the immediate object, for whom it 
was contrived, and that he has derived from it 
the most important benefits, there can be no 
doubt. It is the great central truth of revela- 
tion, that Jesus Christ came to seek and to save 
that which was lost ; that he gave himself for 
us, that he might redeem us from all iniquity, 
and purify unto himself, a peculiar people. But 
whilst the plan of redemption had reference 



129 

primarily to ourselves, it has poured its flood of 
light and glory over the whole intelligent uni- 
verse. In these, as we have seen to-day, the 
highest angels will eternally rejoice. With 
what an infinite importance does this fact invest 
the great doctrine of our Lord's incarnation. It 
would be important, if we could discover in it 
only the ground of our own salvation, if the 
Lamb were only the light of earth. But when 
we are told, as in our text, that he is the light 
of heaven, who can even conceive of its impor- 
tance ? We can only exclaim with the apostle, 
"O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom 
and knowledge of God ! How unsearchable 
are his judgments, and his ways past finding 
out. 

2. If the representations in the preceding 
discourse be true, how certain is it that those 
who deny the great doctrine of the atonement, 
know not what they do. They extinguish the 
light of earth. What hope can there be for 
man, if it be not true, as we have been taught, 
and as many firmly believe, that Christ died for 
oar sins, according to the Scriptures ? What 
hope can there be for man, if he has no merits 
to rely upon for salvation, but his own ? If he 
can enter heaven only through his own unaided 
exertions, by satisfying all the demands of 
12* 



130 

God's violated law, and by yielding to it that 
perfect obedience which it requires ? No, my 
friends, if you succeed in removing from the 
Bible the great doctrine of atonement, you 
extinguish at once the sun of our own moral 
world, and envelope its inhabitants in the 
thickest of moral darkness. In the language of 
the apostle, " Then is our preaching vain, and 
your faith is also vain." The curse of the law 
has never been repealed ; and although its 
execution may, for a season, be delayed, it must 
eventually come. I repeat, therefore, that by 
the denial of this great doctrine, you extinguish 
the light of earth. You quench, as it were, the 
beams of the Sun of Righteousness. But sure- 
ly in doing this, you know not what you do. 
Yet this is not all. You extinguish also the 
light of heaven. For the Lamb is the light 
thereof. Yes, much of the light which shines 
upon that blessed world, proceeds directly from 
the Lamb that was slain. The great plan of 
redemption, as we have seen to-day, has relations 
to the whole intelligent universe ; to angels and 
to archangels, scarcely less important than those 
which it sustains to ourselves. It sheds light 
and glory over the heavenly plains. Surely 
then those who disbelieve in its existence, and 
who take upon them to deny it, know not 



131 

what they do. Not only do they deprive the 
Christian of the foundation of his hopes here 
on earth, but the redeemed spirit, and the un- 
redeemed because sinless angel, of the chief 
sources of their joy in heaven. 

3. Does not our subject teach us, that what 
the Christian considers to be his light on earth, 
will continue to be his light throughout the 
ages of eternity. He has heard his Saviour 
declaring to him, I am the light of the world ; 
and he has found him to be so by his own 
blessed experience. O how has that promise 
been verified to his soul ; " Awake thou that 
sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ 
shall give thee light. 7 ' And how does he rejoice 
in that light. It is the source of all his knowl- 
edge, purity, and comfort. It shines upon the 
dark path, which he is required to tread in his 
pilgrimage from this world to a better. And 
such is his love for it, that he hopes it may 
continue to shine upon him after he has got 
beyond it, throughout the ages of eternity. 
And in this hope, our text informs him, he will 
not be disappointed. For the Lamb is the light 
of heaven, no less than of earth. Yes, in a 
degree inconceivably greater. Here the light 
shineth in the midst of darkness. Its rays, 
therefore, are sometimes obscured. But there it 



132 

will pour forth its full, uninterrupted and 
unmingled effulgence. The sun shall be no 
more their light by day ; neither for brightness 
shall the moon give light unto them ; but the 
Lord shall be unto them an everlasting light, 
and their God, their glory. 

We may learn, therefore, from our subject, 
that in one sense, the Christian's heaven com- 
mences upon earth. The moment that he 
believes in a crucified Redeemer, its light be- 
gins, though perhaps with a dim and imperfect 
ray, to shine upon him. We find, accordingly, 
that the songs which he sings on earth are sub- 
stantially the same with those which he sings 
in heaven ; differing indeed in the loudness and 
sweetness of their tone ; but referring to the 
same subject, and breathing the same spirit. 
" Now unto him who loved us, and washed us 
from our sins in his own blood, and hath made 
us kings and priests unto God and his Father ; 
to him be glory and dominion forever and ever." 

Finally, may we not learn from our subject, 
that no man can be fit for heaven, who does not 
love the Lord Jesus Christ. As he is the light 
of that bright world, what joy would it afford 
to those who love darkness rather than light, to 
be admitted there ? But alas ! how great is the 
number of such. They shrink from the light 



133 

which he sheds, even upon this dark world. 
The beams of the Sun of Righteousness are 
hateful to their sin-diseased souls. How then 
could they bear its full, unmitigated effulgence, 
as it shines forth in heaven ? 

Let me, then, my impenitent hearers, leave 
you with this single but most solemn inquiry ; 
What, with your present feelings towards the 
Lord Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, can be 
your fitness for that world, respecting which we 
learn from the text, that he is the everlasting 
light and glory ? 



SERMON 



FUNERAL OF THE REV. MR. MARCH, 



SEPTEMBER 30, 1846. 



FUNERAL SERMON. 



Luke xii. 37. 

Blessed are those servants whom the Lord, when he cometh ; shall 
find watching. 

How faithful and how kind is the admonition 
conveyed in these words of our heavenly Friend 
and Saviour. Alas ! how needful is it too. 
Where is the dying immortal, who is not apt 
to forget both death, and the eternity beyond 
it? And where is the Christian, who is not 
prone to slumber — to slumber on the brink of 
the grave — to slumber at the very threshold of 
immortal joys ? 

Our blessed Master, in dispensing divine in- 
struction, employed every species of address 
which was calculated to win attention. He as- 
sailed the consciences and hearts of his hearers at 
every avenue where truth might find admission. 
He often presented eternal realities through the 
medium of sensible images ; of objects and 
13 



138 

events frequent in their recurrence, and famil- 
iarly understood. In the passage which has 
furnished the text, he illustrates his coming at 
death, and our duty in reference to it, by the 
solemnities of a marriage. As these occasions 
were celebrated among the Jews in the night ; 
and as the hour at which the married pair, with 
their attendants, would arrive at the bride- 
groom's mansion, was uncertain, it was the 
duty of the servants to be ever on the watch, 
and ever prepared to meet and welcome their 
coming Lord. Such is the exhortation, " Let 
your loins be girded about, and your lights 
burning ; and ye yourselves like unto men that 
wait for their Lord, when he shall return from 
the wedding ; that when he cometh and knock- 
eth, they may open to him immediately. — 
Blessed" adds the Saviour, "are those servants 
whom the Lord, vjhen he cometh, shall find 
watching" 

My brethren ; our nature, and our circum- 
stances, as creatures destined to death, and to 
an eternal state, loudly declare that we too ; that 
all of us without exception, are interested, deep- 
ly interested, in this divine admonition. Yes ; 
if an eternity is before us all, it must be the 
proper business of us all, to prepare for eternity. 
For everlasting joys and everlasting woes are no 



139 

trifles. Nor will any who are not deplorably 
infatuated, treat them as trifles. If death and 
judgment may be at our very doors, what have 
we to do, but to be constantly looking out for 
them ; constantly preparing to welcome the 
glorious and awful Judge ? If, in addition to 
the solemn and reiterated warnings of God's 
word, his providence gives us its daily admo- 
nitions ; if every dying bed, and every opening 
grave is a preacher ; if the grave which opens 
this day, preaches with unwonted eloquence ; 
it must be a criminal indifference, to remain un- 
moved. 

Let us consider, first, the great duty suggested 
in the text ; and then, the solemn and interesting 
motives by which it is recommended and en- 
forced. 

The duty here exhibited, is that of watching ; 
and this, with special reference to the coming 
of Christ at death. Watching, all know, is op- 
posed to sleep. It is a truth — painful and mor- 
tifying, but still a truth — that spiritual slumber 
has overtaken the whole human race. In re- 
gard to the things of religion and eternity, all 
mankind are naturally in a profound sleep. In 
the things of the world, they are awake and 
engaged ; and often, they are all ardor, anima- 
tion a„nd activity. But here ) every sense ap- 



140 

pears enchained ; every faculty, torpid and in- 
active. The glory of the blessed God shines 
around them ; but they perceive it not. He 
speaks, with the authority of a Sovereign, and 
the melting tenderness of a Father ; but they 
hear not his voice. Mercies and judgments, in- 
vitations and warnings, commands, reproofs and 
threatenings are equally lost upon the slumber- 
ers. And how deplorably insensible are they, 
like men asleep, to their guilt and danger, to 
their truest interest, and their highest happiness. 
How inactive, too, as really as if asleep, in the 
proper business of life ; that of glorifying their 
Maker, and benefiting their fellow-creatures ,* 
that of preparing for a future account, and a 
happy eternity. How do they suffer those 
days, months, and years, on which their im- 
mortal salvation depends, to glide by them un- 
noticed, unimproved. Surely, there needs no 
farther proof that they are asleep. Thus to 
live, cannot be worthy the name of life. It is 
but to doze and dream away a useless, and a 
guilty existence. 

Far different from this is the case with the 
real Christian. Divine mercy has dispelled his 
guilty slumbers ; has opened his eyes, and ears, 
and heart to eternal realities. He has begun to 
perceive the infinite glory, and excellency, and 



141 

claims of the ever-blessed God ; the base and 
destructive nature of sin ; the vanity of this 
dying world, and the transcendent worth of a 
soul immortal. He perceives that in that single 
word eternity, are embosomed realities the most 
interesting and awful. No longer can he close 
his ears to the thunders of a violated law, or to 
the melting accents of divine compassion in the 
gospel. The beauties, the glories, the merciful 
invitations of the Saviour now irresistibly attract 
him. He rouses up from the long sleep of 
death, and applies with diligence and vigor, to 
the great end of his being. Abandoning the 
follies of the world, and rising above its grovel- 
ling pursuits, he aims at far nobler objects. To 
please, to serve and glorify his God, is now 
his great concern. While he sheds tears of 
penitential sorrow over his past life — lost to God 
— lost to duty — lost to real happiness ; he wish- 
es to consecrate every moment of the future to 
his Maker, and to eternity. Not that he is 
wholly disenthralled from spiritual slumber. 
Alas! it frequently creeps upon him still. It 
frequently enchains those faculties, and con- 
sumes that precious time, which he would wish 
to consecrate invariably and entirely to religion. 
This is his burden and grief. He honestly 
strives against it. He longs to be wholly free. 
13* 



142 

He longs to serve his God with the activity and 
ardor of " the rapt seraph that adores and 
burns.'' He maintains a vigorous conflict with 
indwelling corruption. He carefully avoids 
those objects and those indulgences which tend 
to lull him into a state of carnal security and 
slumber. Thus, by the grace of God, he does 
habitually maintain some degree of spiritual ac- 
tivity and watchfulness. 

Let us, for a moment, consider this watchful- 
ness with a special reference to the hour of death, 
and to the solemn account which the Christian 
will then give to his glorious Master. These 
are scenes which he habitually keeps in view. 
He does not, with the giddy multitude, endeav- 
or to drown the thoughts of death in the cares, 
the pleasures, or the dissipations of the world. 
He wishes it to be ever uppermost in his heart, 
and familiar to his thoughts. Nor does he 
merely believe in the reality and certainty of 
death, and a judgment to come. He thinks 
upon them with seriousness and solemnity, yet 
with a sublime pleasure. He feels that "were 
death denied, to live would not be life." How 
insupportable would be the thought of being 
always thus in a state of exile from his God 
and Saviour : of being condemned to spend an 
eternity in these abodes of sin and sorrow. In 



143 

those favored seasons when his evidences are 
bright, and his affections ardent, how does he 
spring forward to meet his Redeemer and his 
Judge. How does the thought of enjoying 
his approving smile, enhance every earthly com- 
fort, and soothe every present trial. Especially, 
how does it reconcile him to all the self-denial, 
and toil, and neglect, and reproach which he 
encounters for the dear name of Jesus. How 
does it weaken every tie to earth. How does 
it illumine and cheer the valley of death. 
Amidst the transports of this thought, he is 
willing to bid adieu to every friend, to close 
his eyes on the glories of the sun, and venture 
down the gloomy vale. 

Doubtless, the watchfulness Ave now describe, 
includes an active and diligent preparation for 
the coming of Christ at death and at judgment. 
This is the habitual aim, this the grand object 
of the good man's life. To this he wishes to 
subordinate every other object. And how does 
he endeavor to accomplish this great and all-ab- 
sorbing design? Obviously, by cultivating the 
very same disposition and temper, and by pursu- 
ing the same course of conduct, in which he 
would wish to be found by his blessed Master 
at his coming. Is he a private Christian? He 
aims habitually to imbibe the spirit of his Sa- 



144 

viour ; to imitate his example of humility, self- 
denial, compassion, forgiveness, and universal 
love ; to be faithful to his interest ; to do all to 
his glory ; in a word, to consecrate time, talents, 
property, influence, heart and soul to his sacred 
cause. Is he a Christian minister? He su- 
premely loves his Master ; loves his study ; 
loves his closet ; loves his people ; preaches in 
simplicity the holy, humbling, saving doctrines 
of the cross ; feeds the sheep and the lambs of 
the flock ; watches for souls as one that must 
give account ; and esteems not even his life 
dear, so that he may finish his course with joy, 
and the ministry which he has received of the 
Lord Jesus. 

Thus we have some imperfect view of the 
watchfulness recommended in the text. We 
now hasten to consider some of the great and 
interesting motives by which it is enforced. 

The first motive seems naturally derived from 
the certainty of our Lord's coming. This cer- 
tainty is obviously intimated in the text. In- 
deed, the nature of the case excludes all doubt. 
Unless we firmly believe that we are accounta- 
ble creatures ; and that He who made us, and 
assigned our respective duties and spheres of ac- 
tion, will call us into judgment, and treat us ac- 
cording to our respective characters, we may as 



145 

well commence infidels and atheists at once. 
On the other hand, these truths duly felt, and 
deeply familiarized, cannot fail to engage us to 
all that diligence and watchfulness which has 
been described. Will our great Lord and Mas- 
ter assuredly come and call us to account ? Will 
He who is now our invisible, but ever present 
witness, shortly be our Judge ? Will it be im- 
possible to avoid an appearance at his awful bar ? 
Will he bring every work into judgment ; , and 
every secret thing ? Shall all that we have ever 
done, and said, and thought, and felt, and wish- 
ed, pass in solemn and particular review before 
him ? — It is impossible that stronger arguments 
than these, can be presented to the human mind. 
If we do not feel their force, we must be 
strangely hard and insensible indeed. O why 
is it, that the thought of death, of meeting an 
omniscient and holy Judge, of receiving from 
his lips a sentence irreversible and everlasting, 
a sentence whose every word will be fraught 
with rapture, or with anguish inconceivable — 
why does not this thought penetrate every hu- 
man heart to its centre ? Why does it not fill 
every immortal creature with the liveliest solici- 
tudes ? For what was life given us, but to pre- 
pare for this dread account ? And if we are not 
habitually and anxiously preparing for it, how 



146 

are we sporting with the patience and goodness 
of God. How are we abusing and (must it be 
said ?) murdering days, months, and years, and 
even our own souls. 

Secondly. The time of our Lord's coming is 
utterly uncertain. It may be perfectly sudden, 
unforewarned, and unexpected. " Be ready," 
says the Saviour ; "for the Son of mancometh 
at an hour when ye think not." "Watch ; for 
ye know not when the Master of the house 
cometh .... lest, coming suddenly, he find you 
sleeping." 

Most wisely and most kindly has our Creator 
concealed from every human being, the time of 
death. And what is the lesson to be learned 
from this divine arrangement ? Obviously that 
suggested by the poet. 

Is death uncertain ? Therefore thou be fixed : 
Fixed as a sentinel ; all eye, all ear, 
All expectation of the coming foe. 

True, thousands derive a contrary lesson 
from the uncertainty of death ; and thousands, 
perhaps, whom the world esteems wise. They 
would not, if they could avoid it, put the 
smallest portion of their worldly treasure to a 
moment's hazard ; but they will be content, for 
months and years, to hazard the loss of their 



147 

souls. The thought of enduring a few months 
of sickness, or pain, is insupportable ; but the 
thought of plunging into miseries which never 
end, scarcely robs them of a moment's quiet. 
We need not, my brethren, attempt to find a 
name for this folly. It is impossible. Human 
language is far too poor. But O, let us shun it. 
Let us shun procrastination — that rock on 
which thousands and thousands have split, and 
made shipwreck of their immortal hopes. Let 
us not, O let us not commit these souls to the 
mercy of an unknown, an unpromised hereafter. 
As we would not treasure up materials for 
unavailing repentance, for the bitterest anguish, 
for overwhelming despair, let us without a 
moment's delay, flee to the hope of the gospel, 
consecrate our all to our Creator and Redeemer, 
and thus prepare to meet our Judge in peace. 

Again. Consider, for a moment, the sad 
state of those whom their Lord, at his coming, 
shall surprise asleep. This must be an awful 
case indeed. Suppose it the case of one who 
was never truly awakened, and never began to 
make any real preparation to meet his Judge. 
How full of horror must be such a condition. 
To slumber on to the last ; to cry peace, peace, 
till sudden destruction comes ; to be summoned 
into eternity unprepared ; to meet a frowning 



148 

Deity, an angry Judge, — O, how inadequate is 
the language of mortals to portray the terror 
and the anguish of such a scene. To lose the 
soul, that invaluable, neglected, abused treasure ; 
to lose the smiles of God, and the bliss of 
heaven ; to be banished far from the source of 
all good ; to depart under his tremendous, in- 
supportable frown ; to dwell forever amidst 
condemned spirits, and devouring flames — these 
are horrors which it might seem unkind even 
to mention, were it not to warn the impenitent, 
the secure, the presumptuous, to escape them 
without a moment's delay. 

But suppose a different case. The Saviour, 
as we have seen, bade his own disciples beware, 
lest, coming suddenly, he should find them 
sleeping. There was danger, then, that even 
they might be thus found. Elsewhere, he 
gives us to understand that while the bride- 
groom tarried, the wise virgins, as well as the 
foolish, slumbered and slept. Truly melan- 
choly and humbling is the thought, that Chris- 
tians are capable of such folly, such gross 
inconsistency, in any degree. But it is the 
fact. And what if they should be called to die 
in such a state. Death must be a surprise 
indeed. How poorly prepared must they be 
for that last awful conflict. How destitute, 



149 

probably, of the light of the divine coun- 
tenance, and the evidence of a pardoned state. 
Such, indeed, is the wonderful mercy of God, 
and such the stability of the new covenant, 
that no real Christian can lose his soul. But 
can it be a small thing to want, at such a period, 
the consolations of religion ? Can it be a small 
thing that the pangs of death should be exacer- 
bated by the agonies of doubt, and of remorse ? 
Can it be a small thing that a circle of broken- 
hearted friends should be deprived of the com- 
fort, and the surrounding world of the edifica- 
tion, arising from a death-bed cheered with the 
sensible presence of Christ, and the dawning 
light of heaven ? 

In a word : How blessed, as the Saviour 
declares, are those servants whom the Lord, 
when he cometh, shall find watching. Death, 
it is conceded, is terrific to nature ; and it is 
doubly appalling to the unpardoned, unpre- 
pared sinner. But what of evil, or of terror, 
has death for the watchful Christian ? It takes 
him from earth, and its enjoyments ; but not 
until his heart is thoroughly weaned from them. 
It closes the period of trial ; but not until its 
great end is accomplished ; not until his title to 
heaven is established, and his preparation for its 
felicities, matured. It separates him from earthly 
14 



150 

friends ; but it unites him, and that inseparably, 
to friends still more beloved, and more holy. It 
leads him down a dark valley ; but even there, 
the splendors of an eternal day begin to dawn 
upon his mind. It places him in the immediate 
presence of a holy God ; but it is a presence 
which he has habitually and ardently longed 
for ; the presence of a Father, and a Friend. 
And what is the reception, and what the felicity 
which he may expect from the Saviour, when 
he shall have come at death, and found him 
ready and waiting for his advent ? Let the 
Saviour himself declare. Blessed, says he, are 
those servants whom the Lord, ichen he co-met h f 
shall find tvatclmig. He adds, Verily I say 
unto yon, that he shall gird himself ] and will 
make them to sit down at meat, and will come 
forth, and serve them. Wonderful, astonishing 
words ! We shall never, never comprehend 
their full meaning, till we arrive at heaven. 
But they tell us significantly, even now, that 
He who, on earth, condescended to wash the 
feet of his dear disciples, will not, in heaven, be 
less condescending, or less kind. No ; he will 
be bringing forth to them forever a fullness of 
unceasing, ever-growing delights and consola- 
tions. And those delights and consolations will 
be a thousand times endeared to their hearts, as 



151 

coming to them, not only as the purchase of his 
blood, but as the immediate gifts of his beloved 
hand. Yes ; they are with their Saviour. 
They behold his unveiled glory. They bear 
his perfect image. They receive endless and 
uninterrupted communications of his love. 
This is the heaven which, while here, they 
longed for. This is the heaven to which sove- 
reign, infinite, abounding mercy has exalted 
them. 

We have taken some view of the character of 
the Christian ; the watchful Christian. And by 
the aid of revelation, we have cast a glance at 
his blessedness ; his blessedness in death, and to 
eternity. And is it possible, my beloved hear- 
ers, that any of our depraved and sinful race, 
have ever attained this sublime character. Is it 
possible that any whom we have known, and 
loved, and conversed with — any whom we have 
but recently seen struggling with toils and trials, 
with infirmities and sin, have escaped from them 
all, and are, this moment, enjoying this pure 
and immortal blessedness ? Yes ; it is more 
than possible. We believe that it is a glorious 
and incontestible fact. And we humbly trust 
that the dear friend whose mortal part reposes 
in that coffin, is now added to the great cloud of 
witnesses who give their testimony to the de- 



152 

lightful fact ; and thus to the transcendent ex- 
cellence and blessedness of Christian piety. It 
is consoling to reflect that his perfected and 
happy spirit is now with its God and Saviour. 
With many tender regrets, we shall soon com- 
mit his mortal part to the silent tomb. But let 
us first pause a moment, and take a parting look 
at one in whose character and example, there is 
so much to instruct, and to animate. 

Mr. March was born at Newburyport, of 
worthy and respected parents. In his very 
childhood, he gave evidence, not only of a 
docile mind, and a tender conscience, but, as 
was thought by many of his friends, of hopeful 
piety — evidence which, as they conceived, was 
not discredited, but rather confirmed, by his 
subsequent years. In his own view, however, 
the great work of conversion occurred at a period 
considerably later. It was, as he believed, in 
the closing year of his college life, that he ob- 
tained the first distinct and effectual impressions 
of his own state as a sinner, and of the way of 
salvation revealed in the gospel of Christ. His 
early religious exercises were marked with ten- 
derness, humility, and self-distrust. His views 
of sin, and of his own unworthiness were, at 
times, deeply distressing. Nor was it otherwise 



153 

than gradually, that he arrived, through much 
scrutiny and self-suspicion, at a confirmed hope 
of his interest in the Saviour. 

He had cherished, very early, a strong incli- 
nation to the Christian ministry ; and having 
completed the usual course at Yale College, re- 
ceived his theological education at the Seminary 
in Princeton, New Jersey. Amidst the instruc- 
tions of this seminary, he obtained very clear 
and discriminating views of the great doctrines 
of the gospel — views which were confirmed 
and expanded by his subsequent study of the 
Scriptures, and which imparted an evangelical 
stamp to his preaching, through the course of 
his future life. 

Having commenced his career as a Candidate 
for the ministry, and preached, for a time, in 
various places in New England, and beyond its 
bounds, he was invited, in the beginning of the 
year 1831, to supply the desk in this place. 
The proposal was occasioned by the indisposi- 
tion of the aged Pastor, the Rev. Mr. Miltimore ; 
whose infirmities being rather increased, than, 
alleviated in the course of the year, the Society 
invited Mr. March, and with great unanimity, 
to take part in the pastorship, as a Colleague. 
Their overture was accepted ; and it is well 
known with what assiduity and tenderness the 
14* 



154 

young Pastor devoted himself to soothe and 
brighten the declining years of his aged and 
revered Father. 

This connection, so auspicious, and so delight- 
ful, was but too short. In little more than four 
years from its commencement, the Society was 
called to shed tears of affectionate sorrow over 
the grave of the venerable Miltimore. From 
this period, the surviving Pastor, on whom had 
previously devolved a great portion of the ac- 
tive duties of the place, found himself left to 
bear, alone and unaided, the entire burden and 
heat of the day. 

As a preacher of the gospel, Mr. March was 
greatly and justly esteemed. His sermons were 
not mere cool and general discussions of Chris- 
tian doctrine. Nor were they flighty and su- 
perficial addresses to the imagination, and the 
feelings. They were animated, and occasionally 
they were impassioned. Yet they were lumi- 
nous and instructive too. They dwelt mainly 
on those doctrines by which Christians are 
nourished, quickened and comforted : and sin- 
ners awakened, converted and saved. They 
judiciously placed the stress of religion where 
the Scriptures place it. Proceeding obviously 
from the heart, they were very apt to reach the 
conscience, and the heart. Hence it was, that 



155 

while they were generally acceptable, they were 
most highly prized by the most serious, and the 
most judicious. 

His prayers were not less instructive and ed- 
ifying than his sermons. They were judiciously 
adapted to times, places, subjects, occasions and 
circumstances. They indicated a heart habitu- 
ated to communion with God, deeply impressed 
with his majesty; humbly and tenderly confiding 
in his mercy. They indicated a lively sense of 
the value of spiritual blessings, and of the worth 
of souls immortal. Occasionally, and not un- 
frequently, they took the style of that importu- 
nity, that fervent wrestling with God, which 
could scarcely fail to bring the supplicated bless- 
ings down. 

He was a devoted and affectionate pastor ; 
prompt at the call of duty ; punctual to every 
engagement ; solicitous to detect, and to cherish 
any serious impressions among his people ; 
watching for their souls as one that must give 
account. His addresses to the sick, the dying, 
the bereaved, the awakened and inquiring, ex- 
hibited that union of fidelity and tenderness, of 
discrimination and sound judgment, which was 
calculated to give them force, and to secure for 
them the best effect. 

Such fidelity, and such exertions were not in 



156 

vain. They were crowned with rich blessings. 
Under his care, the church was gradually in- 
creased. And there were seasons in which the 
divine influence was signally bestowed, quick- 
ening the zeal of Christians, and adding not a 
few to their number. 

Mr. March felt a cordial interest in all those 
great enterprises of piety and benevolence which 
have distinguished the present age ; and em- 
ployed an energetic influence in their support. 
His zeal in the cause of reformation was 
warm and active. It was the fruit, not of 
mere excitement, but of principle and reflec- 
tion. It was regulated by a sound judgment, 
and of course, was the more efficient, as well 
as more enduring. 

It was remarkable that amidst so much active 
labor, he should find so much time for mental 
improvement. But he was diligent in study, 
and extensive in his investigations. His visit 
to Europe, some years since, while it furnished 
him a variety of valuable books, seemed to im- 
part a new impulse to his mind. And he evi- 
dently advanced in knowledge, to the close of 
life. 

On the whole, Mr. March established for him- 
self, with the judicious and candid who knew 
him, the character of a good minister, and a 



157 

good Christian ; of a sincere friend to God and 
man ; to society, and its best interests ; to his 
country, and his species. He was a tender hus- 
band, and an affectionate father ; a kind neigh- 
bor, and a faithful friend. 

He was most unusually endeared to an affec- 
tionate people. During a ministry of nearly 
fifteen years, their confidence was unshaken ; 
their attachment unabated. Never, indeed, were 
the evidences of this confidence and attachment 
so manifest, as in the last year of his life. 

He was highly esteemed by his ministerial 
brethren, to whom he was ever ready to impart 
his valuable services j and his praise is in all 
the churches. 

We aver not that he was faultless. This 
would be to take him out of the pale of 
humanity. Still, his character, to human view, 
made an approach, at least, to the faultless. 
While it attracted a general esteem, it might 
almost be said to bid defiance to reproach. For 
himself, however, he felt, and he deeply, 
humbly felt, that he was a fallible, sinful man. 
He centered all his hopes in the merits and the 
compassion of that Saviour who, we doubt not, 
has pardoned his every error, and received him 
to his everlasting mercy. 

His last sickness was protracted and dis- 



158 

tressing. But it was signalized, throughout, 
with serenity, and sweet submission to the will 
of God. So peculiar and equivocal were its 
symptoms, that hope and fear seemed long to 
alternate in the minds of his friends. The 
sufferer himself sometimes expressed strong 
desires to recover; and this chiefly, that he 
might do some farther service for his Master, 
and his beloved flock. He was particularly 
anxious to address the dear youth, and to stim- 
ulate Christians to a closer communion with 
their Saviour, and a more active devotion to his 
cause. Throughout his sickness, many precious 
truths and counsels were uttered, which can 
never be forgotten, nor ever, we trust, be 
remembered but with profit. 

His reason continued to the last. Somewhat 
more than an hour before his departure, it was 
my privilege to sit by his bed, and to find him 
full of peace and hope. He had been favored 
that morning, as he believed, with a season of 
sweet communion with his God. He was per- 
fectly willing to depart. He even longed to go 
and be with his Saviour. He could willingly 
leave his dearest friends, in the joyful hope of 
soon meeting them in a Father's house, never 
to be separated more. 



159 

Our tenderest sympathy is due to her who, 
on this afflicting occasion, is the chief mourner. 
The cup which she is called to drink, is indeed 
a bitter cup. Yet it has been mingled by an 
unerring hand — a kind hand — a Father's hand. 
And that Saviour who once wept at the grave 
of a dear friend, permits her tears, and compas- 
sionates her sorrows. To his all-sufficient 
grace, to his all-supporting arm, we tenderly 
commend her. May she meekly kiss the rod 
of the heavenly Chastener. May she be puri- 
fied in the furnace. May her heart, so repeat- 
edly bereaved of its loved ones, and now so 
emphatically desolate, be filled, more than ever, 
with the love of God, and with the divine, 
undying consolations which that love imparts. 
Blessed be his name ! there is a world where 
love is perfect, and friendship unbroken and 
eternal. May every recollection of joys de- 
parted contribute to raise and rivet her heart to 
that better scene, and to prepare her for its 
unfailing peace and blessedness. 

To the respected and numerous family with 
which our lamented friend was, by marriage, 
connected, we offer our sincere and tender con- 
dolence. With no common affection did they 
receive and love him ; and he was worthy of 
their love. His friendship, his example, his 



160 

counsels and his prayers were all precious to 
their hearts. And not a few of them are con- 
soled by the hope, that the friendship begun on 
earth, will be perfected and immortalized in 
heaven. And what better wish can our hearts 
form, than that they may all, without exception, 
be thus divinely favored and blessed ; that 
following their lamented friend wherein he 
followed Christ, they may be re-united to him 
in that world where all are completely blessed, 
and where the pure delights of friendship are 
never embittered by the danger, or even the 
possibility of separation. 

My friends of this church and society : The 
heart which lately throbbed with unutterable 
desires for your salvation, is now cold and 
motionless. The tongue which proclaimed to 
you the messages of a Saviour's love, and the 
warnings of his mercy, is now silent in death. 
Your minister is no more. He who besought 
you to be reconciled to God ; he who invited 
you to a Redeemer's arms ; he who warned 
you to flee from the wrath to come ; he who 
prayed and wept over you ; who counselled 
you in your difficulties, comforted you in your 
sorrows, and watched by your sick and dying 
beds — is withdrawn forever from your sight. 
His last message is delivered ; his last prayer is 



161 

uttered ; his work is done ; his account is ren- 
dered to the great Judge of quick and dead. 
And before the bar of that eternal Judge, you 
will one day meet him. It will then appear 
how he has preached, and how you have heard ; 
what were the privileges which you have 
enjoyed under his ministry, and how far you 
have profited by those privileges. And O my 
friends ! eternal consequences are depending. 
It is a melancholy and startling thought, that 
the minister may be loved, and the gospel he 
preaches, be disregarded and disobeyed. Yes ; 
the minister may be loved, while the Saviour 
and the salvation he recommends, may be re- 
jected and lost. Are you, then, prepared to 
have the momentous point decided ? Are you 
prepared for the scrutinies and decisions of the 
final day ? — Not a few of you, we doubt not, 
will be the joy and crown of your beloved min- 
ister in the great day of the Lord. For the 
rest, we have but one wish and prayer. It is, 
that what all the counsels and warnings of your 
living minister have not accomplished, may, 
through the boundless mercy of God, be accom- 
plished by his lamented removal, by the elo- 
quence of his dying bed, by the soul-subduing, 
heart-melting services of this day. Yes, my 
friends ; from the coffin which encloses those 
15 



162 

dear remains ; or may I not rather say, from the 
heaven to which the released spirit has taken 
its flight ; a voice addresses you — a voice of 
compassionate warning, of tender entreaty. 
Will you not listen ? Will you not obey ? 
Can you bear the thought that the heart-rending 
separation from a beloved minister, shall be an 
everlasting separation ? Will you not aspire to 
meet him with joy before the Judge ? Will 
you not aspire to be his glory and his crown in 
the regions above ? 

My brethren in the Christian ministry : The 
early and lamented exit of our departed friend, 
and the solemn services of this day, speak a lan- 
guage to us, most significant and affecting. 
Why he was so early removed ; why a life so 
precious, and so useful, should be so speedily 
terminated, we may not too curiously inquire. 
To some of us, perhaps, who have been long 
spared, (to one, I am sure,) the fact seems equal- 
ly mysterious and humbling. And it suggests 
inquiries most interesting to us all. Were ive 
called soon away, could we meet our omnis- 
cient Judge in peace ? Would ours be the bless- 
edness of those servants whom their Lord, when 
he comes, finds watching ? Are we faithful — 
faithful to the Master who sent us — faithful to 
our ordination vows — faithful to the souls of 



163 

our people ; souls redeemed with blood, and 
solemnly committed to our charge ? Are we 
living and acting as under our glorious Master's 
eye ? Are we sedulously preparing for his final 
appearing ? Are we wholly absorbed in this 
great object, and honestly endeavoring to spend 
each day, each hour, as if each would be the 
last ? Should our Lord come by a sudden call, 
should he come to-day, would he find us ready 
to give him a joyful welcome ? — Awful indeed 
will be that meeting, if we are found unfaithful, 
unprepared. No words can describe it. No 
imagination can conceive it. But if we are 
faithful, we have nothing to fear. Our blessed 
Master will kindly accept our poor imperfect 
services ; will present us the palm of victory, 
and place on our unworthy heads, the crown of 
glory. 

May the God of infinite mercy sanctify the 
removal of our dear departed brother to the 
whole circle of mourning relatives and friends ; 
to all the inhabitants of this, and the neighbor- 
ing towns ; to the ministers and churches by 
whom he was so extensively known and es- 
teemed; and to all the friends of religion, and 
of man. 

In view of this afflicting dispensation, who is 
not ready to exclaim; Help, Lord; for the godly 



164 

man ceaseth ; for the fait hf id fail from among 
the children of men. The righteous are taken 
away ; they are taken from the evil to come. — 
And who shall fill their places ? Who shall 
supply the chasm caused by their removal ? In 
a season too evidently marked by the frowns of 
God on our country, where are the men who 
shall rise up in the spirit of our departed broth- 
er, and avert, by the holy importunity of prayer, 
the righteous anger of Heaven ? Amidst the 
sad declensions and degeneracies in religion, 
where are the men anxious and eager to restore 
its primitive purity, and arrest its downward 
progress ? When error, and delusion, and infi~ 
delity, and vice, and crime sweep over the land 
like a flood, where are the noble spirits, still 
faithful to the cause of truth and righteousness, 
and courageously resisting the incursions of the 
enemy ? 

How emphatically, by the late dispensation, 
has our great Lord and Judge proclaimed, Be- 
hold, I come as a thief; blessed is he that watch- 
eth, and keepeth hi \ garments, lest he walk na- 
ked, and they see his shame. Behold I come 
quickly, and my reward is with me. May we 
all be prepared to reply with sincerity and ardor ; 
Amen ; even so come, Lord Jesus ; come quickly. 



TRIBUTE OF AFFECTION. 



STANZAS SUGGESTED BY TPIE DEATH OF REV. J. C. MARCH. 

INSCRIBED TO MRS. M . 

[ By a Lady of the Society. ] 

Weep not for him, his work is done, 

And peaceful is his slumber now ; 
Calmly hath sunk his setting sun, 

While beams of glory tinged his brow. 
Though earth was beautiful and bright, 

And love would fain have bound him here, 
Reflections from a purer light 

Illumed his path when death was near. 

Weep not for him, a holy song, 

Unmingled with discordant strains, 
He tunes amid the angel throng, 

Who tread with joy the heavenly plains. 
Eye hath not seen that better land, 

Ear hath not heard its joyous tone, 
Nor dreams with their enchanted wand, 

Portrayed its bliss to man unknown. 

For thee the bitter tear we shed, 

We blend the silent sigh with thine ; 
Sad mourner o'er the holy dead, 

With whom thy life was wont to twine. 
The beaming eye is closed in death, 

The sunlight of thy earthly way, 
And with the gasp of parting breath, 

Faded from thee each cheering ray. 



166 

Ye shared life's changing hopes and fears,— 

When joys were radiant in the sky, 
Or when the light was dimmed by tears, 

Love blest each hour that hasted by. 
Henceforth, a lonely path you tread; 

Yet while the strongest ties are riven, 
Hope softens every tear you shed, 

And points the aching heart to heaven ! 

We mourn for those without a guide, 

Amid their wanderings day by day, 
To point them o'er time's fleeting tide, 

To Christ, the Light, the Truth, the Way ! 
No more his voice in fervent prayer, 

Shall plead for blessings on his flock, 
No more shall they his counsels share, 

Who led them to the Living Rock! 

Oh ! when the scenes of time are o'er, 

When earthly pageants pass away, 
When parting tears are shed no more, 

Nor Death the Conqueror comes to slay ; 
May you the loved and lost one meet, 

Pastor and people join again, 
Rejoicing at the Father's feet, 

And blend in one eternal strain ! 

H. S, G, 
Oct. 8, 1846, 



